Pearls of Memory
by BryWrites
Summary: A story of Cinna, before the world met the Girl on Fire. There had been another girl with gray eyes, and a story left in sketchbooks that survived their author. He started the flame of rebellion, but who sparked a change in him? Pearls of memories, and the 72nd Hunger Games. Featuring Finnick, Effie, and other characters.
1. 1) A Reaping

**Author's Note: Cinna has always been my favorite character in the Hunger Games. So much of his story was left untold in the books, and I found myself wondering just what his backstory could be. What if the 74th Hunger Games hadn't been his first year as a stylist? Why did he ask for District 12? What made him so different than the rest of the Capitol citizens? And so this is my answer, two years prior to when Katniss's story begins, with the 72nd Hunger Games. (Told in two points of view, Cora's and Cinna's.)  
And of course, I don't own any characters in the books, or the world that Suzanne Collins has built.  
**

 _Cora_

The sky was dark. It always seemed that bad weather came on the reaping day. At least, every year that I could remember. I shook my head, scolding myself. Weather was the least of my concerns right now. I needed to pay attention. _Stay calm_ , I told myself. _Breathe in, breathe out._ Six pieces of paper. That wasn't very much. Six was less than seven. But it was more than five _._ More than four. I tried to pay attention to the weather instead.

The mayor's speech was ending, and Julietta Silver stepped up onto the stage as I smoothed out my green dress. Six times my name was entered. That was all.

"Welcome, welcome District Four!" She cheered, her long blond hair bobbing as she moved. Each year her hair seemed to alternate between shades of pastels. "What a lovely day for the reaping!" I couldn't help but cast another upward glance. Cloudy skies and fog. Not exactly my idea of lovely. "It is time to announce our tributes for the 72nd annual Hunger Games. Let's get down to business! And as always, may the odds ever be in your favor!"She strutted her way over to the glass jar and reached in gleefully, as though she were poking around for money, and raised a slip high in the air. She repeated the task with the jar's twin beside it, and hurried back to the podium.

"Our lovely lady is… Miss Cora Sweetgale!" Julietta declared. The air was knocked out of my chest. Six was too many after all. Inhaling deeply, I made her way up to the stage beside Julietta, my heart pounding. My name. Out of all them. I would be strong up on this stage. I would be brave. Julietta continued on. "And our dashing young man… Percy Waters!" The small twelve year old was ushered up beside me, and he grabbed quickly for my hand, his blue eyes searching my own with fear. I felt a stab of sympathy for him- when Percy was younger he had been bitten by a shark- luckily only a few toes were lost- and he had been timid and jumpy ever since. Percy wouldn't last in the arena, and he seemed to know it, standing there trembling in his blue suit. I tried to comfort him.

"It's okay Percy. Someone will volunteer for you." I whispered, struggling to reassure him. "Someone will help you." Sure enough, Julietta extended her pale pink hand to the crowd.

"Do we have any volunteers? Any young women interested in taking the place of Miss Sweetgale?" The girls in the crowd glanced at each other nervously. Though District Four had been known for Career tributes, the girls weren't so willing to go this year. I couldn't blame them. Last year's games were vicious- the only weapons had been awful spiked maces. Still, my heart sank with the weight of what that would mean."Any strapping boys?" Julietta continued. Even among the boys, a hush of discontent swept through them, but this time a tan hand shot up near the back of the group- they had a volunteer. A tall boy made his way up to the stage as Percy quickly ran back down. Julietta clapped her hands happily. "And you are?"

"Ronan Spare." He said confidently. I wasn't surprised. I'd known Ronan for a while- he was only fourteen yet incredibly strong- not to mention incredibly arrogant. He'd been dying for a chance to enter the games. He had a real chance of coming out a champion. Julietta Silver smiled and took my wrist in her right hand, and Ronan's in the other.

"District Four we have our tributes for the seventy-third annual Hunger Games! Let's have a round of applause for Cora Sweetgale and Ronan Spare!" She shouted in joy. I turned my gaze back to the clouds. The gray sky was not sympathetic. Six had always been far too many.

* * *

 _Cinna_

"You're lucky Marcello let you work with me Cinna," Annette said curtly, as we sat together in front of the television. "If he didn't think you had so much potential, you'd be stuck with Eleven or Twelve." She flipped her pale-rose tinted hair over her shoulder. I knew I was lucky to be a stylist for District Four. I knew I was lucky to be working with such an experienced stylist. But I still couldn't shake the anxiety back of my mind. The Hunger Games were big. This was my chance to debut as a stylist. But that big debut began with the two of us sitting together in her apartment waiting to discover who our tributes would be. We had talked a little bit before hand, mostly at meetings, or if we happened to run into each other at a party or shop- but most of our previous interactions had been strictly short and to the point- without the awkward in between moments facing us now. I quickly learned that for all her skill, Annette was just as proud. Things are done her way, and in true Capitol fashion. Today, she made it clear she wasn't thrilled at the prospect of working with a first- time stylist.

I was thankful when the logo for District Four came on the screen, before changing to the reel of the reaping. We waited in silence as Julietta Silver ran through the motions and the mayor of the District gave his speech, while Finnick Odair, Annie Cresta, and Magdalene Sharp stood beside the stage. I barely listened to them. I just wanted to see the tributes- the two children our work would revolve around for the next week. And soon enough, they were chosen. Mentally, I took note the strong points of each. The girl was short, and though she still looked healthy, she was pale compared to most members of District Four. Her long brown hair would be easy to work with, and her gray eyes were striking. The boy was so young, so timid- how could I prepare such a young child? No, I wouldn't have to, for the screen showed that there was a volunteer. An older boy approached the stage. He was tall, and muscular as well. His golden hair was short and spiky, and he reminded me slightly of the past victor, Finnick. They stood together side by side, as Julietta Silver clapped her hands and the audience cheered. I glanced over at Annette to gauge her reaction.

"I want the boy. He's got potential. Lots of it," she spoke eagerly as she watched the screen flash the names of the two tributes. "Ronan Spare," she read. "Yes. He's got guts, that one. You're fine with the girl?" she added, turning towards me.

"Of course," I replied politely. Annette was the senior between us. I knew how it worked. Looking back at the screen, I tried to capture the face of the girl in my mind. Cora Sweetgale. Though she still looked like a child, the television said she was already seventeen. One year away from escaping the Games. What could I do with her? Her hair was long, with sideswept bangs and pieces that stuck out slightly on the sides. But it was her eyes were what struck me. Next to Ronan, she didn't seem to have a chance- but those eyes. Her eyes looked far stronger than her body let on.


	2. 2) A Train

_Cora_

The train was nicer than I had imagined, with soft velvet seats and large windows. I sat on a couch seat, facing Finnick Odair and Ronan, who were seated opposite me. Finnick was to be our mentor for the games- our lifeline and teacher. Usually there were two mentors for the Games, but Mags had been declared too sick to go the Capitol, and Annie Cresta could never be a mentor. Finnick was handsome and strong- not to mention smart. The District and the Capitol sang his praises. But at the moment, the bronze-haired man seemed preoccupied as he looked out the window.

"We'll be arriving in the Capitol tomorrow morning," he told us. "Get some rest tonight. We'll start going over the game plan during dinner."

"So, um, what now?" I asked. I was exhausted after the tearful goodbyes to my family and friends. My parents were devastated, losing a second child to the Games. I couldn't bear to watch them go. I hardly had a chance to, as I was swept along past press and to the train, the day moving so quickly I still hadn't processed it all. Finnick fixed his sea green eyes on me, staring for an uncomfortable moment before responding.

"Go and change. Rest. Dinner is in an hour," he replied. "Don't be late." With that he stood up, and made his way out of the main compartment. Not wanting to be left alone with Ronan, I left my seat and walked through the train until I reached my own room. It was spacious enough without being overwhelming; with a comfortable looking bed, a large dresser with a mirror, and a door that led to a private bathroom. I headed immediately for the bathroom- water was exactly what I needed right now. It always calmed me down. The tub gradually filled, and I leaned back against the rim, letting my mind drift as my body relaxed in the warm water.

 _You'll be okay. The Games aren't that bad,_ I tried to tell myself. _Who am I kidding? You know what's going to happen. There's no stopping it._ I knew very well. Only three years ago had my older brother been sent to the Hunger Games. I curled my legs closer to my chest, trying to hold the memory in, trying to hold myself together.

Tyde had been reaped when he was eighteen- his last year to qualify for the Hunger Games. I'd been only thirteen. Just as no one had volunteered for me this year, the same had happened for my brother. While he wouldn't have been one to volunteer himself, everyone thought he had a chance at winning the Games. Tyde was strong, charming, and very smart. He would plan. He would make it out alive. I watched as my brother, the intelligent and humorous boy I'd looked up to, changed onscreen. He acted cocky, sarcastic, and at times, even mean in the interviews. He was brutal in his critique of the others, and so certain of his own victory. That was not the Tyde I knew. Though I could still find my gray eyes in his, and his face remained the same, I had lost him. I thought I would find him again, when he won, when he returned. Then he would be able to drop the act, leave behind whatever had changed him so much. As the games had drawn to a close, only four tributes remained. Tyde had formed an alliance with the female tribute from District 4, a strong girl named Aquara. The two of them had taken out the remaining District 2 tribute together. But as soon as the tribute was dead, Aquara suddenly killed Tyde with his own spear, a move that shocked the District. It was almost unheard for a tribute to kill their District counterpart. However, Aquara never had to deal with the consequences, since the boy from District 1 came behind with his axe soon after, ending the Games.

I never saw him come home. I never got him back. I lost every part of him. And that had overwhelmed me completely.

I leaned back to stare at the ceiling. Now as was the one off to the Capitol. Could I take the life of another tribute, knowing they had a family back home who mourn that loss, while another District celebrated it? I would not let anyone else feel that pain. I didn't think I could win the Games. My parents knew that, it was on their faces as they came in to say farewell. Perhaps my time in the arena would be short, but I could still make a difference, in some small way. There in the bathwater, I made a promise to myself. I would not be responsible for a single death in the Games.

An hour later, I joined Ronan, Finnick, and Julietta Silver in the dining car. Finnick smiled at me as I took my place across from him, in between Ronan and Julietta.

"About time you showed up. Hungry?" my mentor asked. I shrugged. I didn't quite feel up to eating.

"I suppose so." I lied. Taking some bread from the center of the table I looked expectantly back at Finnick. When was he going to start telling us how to stay alive? Ronan must've been wondering the same thing.

"What's the game plan?" he asked, reaching to add more salmon to his plate.

"The game plan," the bronze-haired man began, "is to stay alive. Don't focus too much on that right now though. We'll assess your skills during the training, figure out what you're good at. But tomorrow, focus on pleasing the audience. Sponsors are the key to surviving in the arena." _Well you would know,_ I thought, with a hint of bitterness. Everything Finnick needed or wanted had been sent to him via silver parachute. Her never went hungry or thirsty, never needed to fight for weapons. He was set. _He_ came home.

Our mentor went on. "We'll figure out what we're going to do with you after the opening parade. Decide on your angle."

"Wonderful, wonderful, Finnick," Julietta marveled. Ronan looked eager at the prospects of finding his "angle" but I felt sick. I didn't want an angle. I didn't want to change who I was for the sake of the capitol, to lose myself like I'd lost Tyde. I wondered briefly if Finnick would've understood that. He and Tyde had once been very close friends. Then Finnick had won the 65th Hunger Games. He was always busy visiting the Capitol, though the two still spent time together- and then Tyde had been reaped four years later, to never return. Finnick had never said a word to me since. I felt the resentment forming in the pit of my stomach, and what little appetite I had was gone.

"I think I've had enough. If that's all Finnick, I think I'll head to bed early, if you don't mind. It's been a long day," I announced. Finnick shrugged, and the other two said nothing. I stood up and made my way back to my room, where I quickly changed into the soft pajamas from the closet and laid down on the bed, hoping for any sort of sleep to come.


	3. 3) A Parade

_Cinna_

I sat impatiently outside of the Prep Room. My team was already inside, prepping Cora. What would she be like? The small girl with the strong eyes? Sighing, I leaned back in the chair. Annette and I had worked hard planning the outfits- though Annette's view too often took priority over my own- but now I wasn't so sure how it was going to look on the girl. I knew how important this was. It was her chance to get sponsors- it was the chance to make an impression. And a chance my designs to make an impression. I wanted them to remember her. I stood up and began to pace the room. I was going to give this girl her best fighting chance out there. I would help her.

In the Capitol, the Hunger Games were so popular. They were a sensation, an annual celebration of Games-watching parties and betting and sponsoring. I had grown up watching them with my parents, my father and I cheering on different Districts. My mother had been quieter about them. She didn't enjoy the bloodshed the way so many did. When I was younger, I hadn't understood her reluctance. She'd passed away before I could ever ask her about it. After her death, my father didn't want to talk about her. But as I grew older, I began to wonder about the tributes. Were they afraid? Were they sad? Did they know they were going to die? Studying to be a stylist, I had watched the Games with those thoughts in mind. Those thoughts kept coming back to me now. I was in a position to help. And to do that, I needed to focus on my tribute. On the Games. Regardless of their morality, they were important. Tributes lived and tributes died. It was a part of Panem life. Of Capitol life.

So much revolved around the cycles of the Games in the Capitol. People waited with anticipation for the next Games, with new tributes to follow and new entertainment. There were parties and celebrations where everyone gathered to watch on big screens. Stores sold decorations and clothing to demonstrate support for different Districts. There was always the option to sponsor a favorite tribute. Once the Games had ended, a part of the Capitol died down. There was little else with such substance to found in daily life. And so began preparations for the Victory Tour, after which the cycle started anew.

Though few Capitol citizens worked, many of those that did chose careers that would bring them closer to the action of the Hunger Games. Gamemakers were responsible for designing arenas and controlling what would be inside. Escorts worked closely with the Districts, reaping the tributes and bringing them to the Capitol. If their District produced a victor, that escort would join the revelry of the Victory Tour. It was the stylists that I most admired. If the Games were painful, the stylists made them beautiful. They created costumes that dazzled citizens and sponsors, they made these tributes lovely if only for a moment. I had always been drawn to the world of Capitol couture, I grew up filling sketchbooks with designs and experimenting with colors and possibilities. Studying to be a stylist was studying to see the beauty in everything, to pull out the very best in a subject. I hoped I could do that now.

Sinjin's voice sounded from the door to the Prep Room.

"She's all ready for you Cinna!"

* * *

 _Cora_

The moment the door opened, I threw on the robe, despite the team's instructions.

I stared at the man who had entered the room. He was clearly from the Capitol. He appeared to be very young, and had deep blue hair. His eyes were a striking pink, lined by magenta, and his lips were a shade of yellow. He wore a simple blue shirt with a black jacket and deep blue pants that had tiny waves at the ankles- trying to represent District 4. He looked odd- but compared to the styles of most Capitol citizens, he was tame.

He smiled warmly at me. "Hello. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he said. I nodded slowly as he reaffirmed what the Prep Team had said earlier.

"I'm Cora Sweetgale."I hadn't expected him to be so young. Despite the strange colors, he had a handsome face.

"Now if you could please take off the robe for me," he went on. I stiffened and he must've noticed. "Just for a moment. I won't touch you, I just need to look at you. Please," he added.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled off the robe. Cinna moved slowly in a circle around me, inspecting her carefully with those bright magenta eyes, and I could feel my face reddening as the seconds passed. When he came full circle, I quickly tossed the plush white robe back on.

"Well, let's get you ready. Just follow me." He led me over to the chair where my Prep team had done my hair- forming my long straight locks into loose curls. With a gentle hand, Cinna looked over my make-up and touched up the work the team had done on me. I sat as still as possible until he finished. I wasn't too fond of the way it felt on my face, but I knew I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Cinna worked quickly and said nothing, just gave me an occasional smile or friendly glance. Despite my doubts about people from the Capitol, Cinna seemed to be someone trustworthy. Looking in the mirror though, I hardly recognized the face staring back at me. A layer of bright blue eyeliner outlined my eyes, overtop white eye shadow. Mascara had made my eyelashes much longer, and tiny white drops adorned the ends, like little pearls. Blush and lipstick had been applied in soft red shades. I turned to face Cinna.

"What do you think?" He asked softly.

"I don't look much like me," I murmured. I wasn't sure what to say. Cinna gave me an apologetic smile.

"Yes… you're right." He paused a moment to think. "Let's try on your dress and then we'll make some adjustments."

He left and returned with the parade costume and I changed quickly. I'd never seen anything like it. I turned around in the long mirror on the wall to get a better look. The dress was tight fitting, with long sleeves, but it flowed out around my feet, like a mermaid's tail. The fabric was a shimmering, sparkly silver, and gave the illusion of scales. Two small pieces branched off from my elbows like fins.

"Well?" I asked nervously. Cinna examined me once more and shook his head.

"I just don't think it looks right… I wanted you to look grown up… but I think it might be best if we just make you… look like you," he suggested. Relief surged through my chest. I wanted to look like me. I wanted to feel more like me. We returned to the chair once more. Cinna scrubbed off the heavy make-up and began to redo my hair. The previously comfortable silence now felt loud, and finally he broke it.

"So, are you excited?" he tried. I blinked, staring at the mirror, trying to form a proper response.

"No," I told him quietly. How could I be? Excited? For _this?_

"Oh," he sighed. His expression was unreadable. "Oh. Of course. Of course not." He seemed to be scolding himself for asking.

"You have very nice hair," he offered, in a poor attempt to change the subject.

"That won't do me much good in the Games," I said, half under my breath. Cinna lifted his gaze for a moment, determination evident on his face.

"This is only my first year as a stylist in the Games, but I can tell you one thing Cora- It will help right now," he said. "This parade is your moment to be noticed. This will get you sponsors. Right now, anything goes. So right now, I'm going to do what I can so they'll remember you." Though he spoke forcefully, it gave me a flicker of hope. They might remember me. Maybe even want to help me.

In a matter of minutes, the curls in my hair were smoothed into looser waves, and the eyeshadow a pure white and silver. The fancy eyelashes had been toned down, but the little pearls remain. Cinna placed the finishing touches on my dress- a long cape draped over my shoulders, made of transparent blue fabric that became lighter as it went down my back, with patterns of dappled water all across it. It looks as though I wear a waterfall. On my head he set a small crown made of pearls, with little strands of smaller pearls that extended down my hair. Satisfied, he smiled down at me.

"You look beautiful. Like you came straight out of the sea."

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it. He led me out of the room and into the streets of the Capitol, where Ronan waited with his stylist, Annette. She gasped when she saw me. For a second, I felt that hope surging in my chest once more, but when she spoke, it quickly vanished.

"Cinna, this isn't what we had planned!" she cried. Cinna put a hand up to stop her.

"I know, I know. But trust me Annette, she looks better this way." I was grateful for that, the way Cinna was willing to stand up for me. Perhaps his words were genuine. I wanted to trust him. Annette harrumphed in response, and the two of them helped us into the chariot. My eyes took in Ronan, wearing tight gray pants, and a white tunic, with a shimmering silver net draped across his shoulders. He held a white trident in his hand, and around his wrists were long bands of the same water-like fabric that I wore as a cape. It occurred to me that we looked like fish and fisherman, and the idea that I was the one being caught was somewhat unnerving. All of this was unnerving, strange and overwhelming. I wanted the comfort of a familiar face, but Finnick was nowhere to be found. Instead, I looked to Cinna.

The anxiety I felt in my chest must've been obvious on my face, because he responded almost immediately. "Remember to smile!" Cinna shouted from the ground. "You'll do great." He gave us a thumbs up, an all clear, and the chariot was off. We rode into the open streets, lined with the citizens of the capitol. People were shouting, screaming and waving at us.

"Do something," Ronan hissed. "Show them who you are." Tentatively, I raised my hand to wave back. More shouts came, cheers, and so I smiled widely, and waved widely, taking in everything. If I was going to die, I would enjoy these small moments.


	4. 4) A Balcony

_Cinna_

I waited inside the Training Center with Annette and Finnick, as the parade came to an end. Cora and Ronan would return soon, hopefully after leaving enough of an impression. The screen on the wall let us watch them.

"They look great," Finnick declared proudly. And he's right, they do. Cora appeared to be enjoying herself- waving to the crowd and grinning- and the crowd was loving it. Ronan raised his head proudly to them, and thrust his trident into the air. He gave off a presence of confidence, that was for sure. But Cora had an air of gentleness and light. Like an ocean and a river, different in their strengths, but strong nonetheless. Finally, the chariots pulled in. I extended my hand to help them down. Ronan leapt out on his own, but Cora took my assistance. Once her hand was in mine, I could feel that she was shaking terribly, and I held her a little tighter.

"Thank you Cinna," she said with a slight smile. Finnick slapped them both on the shoulders.

"You two were great out there. Especially you Ronan." The boy smirked at his mentor's praise. "Such confidence!" Finnick went on. Cora cast her eyes towards the ground, saying nothing. I couldn't help but feel bad. Ronan put on a good show. But I if could get Cora to shine just a little more- maybe, she'd have a shot.

After the tributes have changed, Annette and I made our way up to the apartment. Dinner was already laid out, with almost everyone present. Finnick sat next to Julietta, who was currently fawning all over him. To his right, Ronan was eyeing the food impatiently. Annette took a seat next to Julietta, and I sat beside her. Glancing to my left, I noticed a remaining seat. As if on cue, Cora came dashing down the stairs. Her hair was still wet, and she's changed into a simple silver sweater and dark pants.

"I'm sorry!" she apologized to Finnick. "I didn't hear you calling. I was in the shower." Turning to Ronan she added, "Did you know you can change the way the water smells?" We all laughed. The Capitol was different than the Districts in so many ways, but I couldn't help but find it amusing that this girl chose to focus on the water. A hint of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks, she slid into the seat to my left. We ate, and chatted, and Finnick flirted with Julietta. I stole a glance at Cora, who had pushed the remains of her roasted potatoes to the edges of her plate. She noticed me, and turns to catch my eye.

"Thanks again for tonight, Cinna," she said. "Without you, I don't think I would have made much of an impression at all."

I shook my head. "Of course you would. You shine. You just needed a little extra sparkle." I teased. She blushed, and directed her attention back to the food. The light banter continued, jokes were made across the table, and Cora even laughed at some of mine. Finnick and Julietta praised the costumes that Annette and I put together.

"Oh Cora," Annette said suddenly. "You're last name is Sweetgale right?" Cora turned wide-eyed to face my partner.

"Yes. It is."

"Didn't you have a brother in the Games? A few years ago… oh what was his name..."

"Tyde." Cora finished for her. "His name was Tyde." Finnick chimed in from the other end of the table.

"He was in the 69th Hunger Games. Almost won. But his partner took him out. Pretty rough stuff." He chuckled. Cora stood up, almost knocking her chair over in the process.

"I don't feel so good." She announced. "I'm sorry. I'm going to get some air." She headed for the balcony door. The eyes of everyone at the table followed her as she went. I volunteered to go after her.

I found her standing silently on the balcony, staring out at the city.

"Are you alright?" I asked softly, not wanting to startle her.

"I'm fine." Her voice said just the opposite. What could I say? What could I do for her? I knew nothing of losing a sibling, or being sent to a strange city full of strange people.

"I'm sorry about your brother- Tyde." I knew it wasn't enough. I wanted to understand this. This girl who was in pain before me. Where did that pain come from? What was it like, for her to lose her brother here, and then to be reaped herself?

Cora took a deep, slow breath. "It's not your fault. It's just… How can you look forward to this each year? Watching children die? Fight each other to death? This whole "celebration"… it's awful." She spoke with a quiet anger. "It's repulsive. Despicabe." Revelations came one after the other, crashing like waves of doubt to the shore. There had been times I harbored suspicions that the Games were much more than that to those who lived outside of the Capitol. Now I felt certain. Tributes were _afraid_. How could we have not seen that?

"I'm sorry," I said once more. "We must seem so horrible." I certainly felt horrible. It was true then, the thought that I had entertained in private. The Hunger Games were brutal. Children, who had no connection to the rebellion were killed, as entertainment for those of us in the Capitol. As punishment for something they couldn't even remember. _How could I not see that?_ Cora turned away from the city, her gray eyes shining, worry etched on her face.

"Cinna, no… I don't mean…" she stopped, pulled at her sweater. "You. You aren't repulsive. You're not that bad. You helped me tonight." I'm wasn't repulsive. I'm wasn't _that_ bad. In a way, felt relieved. But the fact remained that I was the one preparing her for the Games. Readying Cora to be led like an animal to the slaughterhouse. And another thought came through, clear and urgent. No. I would do all that I could bring her out safely. The Games could kill her. I'd seen tributes die before, and while I'd felt a distant sadness from time to time, I had never had reason to wish so strongly for one to survive. But I could save her. Something welled up inside of me. I wanted to save her.

"I'm glad you think so," I replied, mustering up a smile. Neither of us seemed to know what to say next. We stood in silence, and when Cora spoke, she threw me off guard.

"Have your eyes always been magenta?"

It was such an abrupt subject change, that I had to suppress a laugh as I shook my head. "No, they're just contacts. Many people here permanently change their eye colors… but I wanted to be able to go back if I wanted to Here, anything can be changed. Far more than just hair or eye color." Cora inspected my face, and I watched the path of her eyes, curious.

"How did you used to look Cinna?" she inquired sincerely. I was speechless. How did I used to look? I couldn't believe this girl was asking me that. And yet, I wanted to show her. She had shown me the most vulnerable parts of herself tonight. I owed her that much. I fumbled around in my pocket for my phone, and scrolled through the pictures until I'd found it. Finally. I turned the screen to show her a picture of myself from a few years ago, before I became a stylist. It was one of the few I had in which every part of me was natural. For some reason, I felt more nervous as she inspected this face. There was striking contrast. My hair was a little shorter, its original shade of brown, and my eyes, green. There was not a trace of make-up, and rather than the carefully designed outfit I had worn for today, the me of the past had on a plain dark golden shirt. I waited for Cora's response, and when she looked up, she wore a smile.

"I think you look better there," she murmured "You look so…" Cora stopped abruptly, flushing again.

"Really? You think so?" I laughed. No one had ever said such a thing before. Few people in the Capitol put value on things being natural.

"And I like the color," she offered. "You look good in gold." It was clear she was beginning to get anxious out here, and I wasn't quite sure what to say anymore either. I wasn't sure I trusted myself with my words.

"Come on," I told her instead. "I think there's cake inside."


	5. 5) A Score

_Cora_

After Cinna and the others had returned home, or wherever they stayed, I laid in bed, wide awake. Tomorrow, the training sessions began. What was I going to do? I'd never been much of a fighter. Back home, I mostly spent my time sailing and swimming. But I doubted the gamemakers would provide a pool. I rolled over onto the other side of the bed in frustration. There was a memory, a small chance.

Growing up, Tyde had taught me a few choice things. I could shoot a slingshot decently, and not to mention fish. I was better with nets or my own hands, but I knew how to use a spear. But the staff, that was my strength. Tyde and I both learned from our neighbor, Garret, when we were young. That was the one thing I could beat him in. Staff fighting. Would the Gamemakers have something I could use like a staff? It was possible. Having found some sort of relief, I sank back into the pillows, and let sleep wash over me.

Breakfast the next morning went surprisingly well with Finnick and Ronan. Neither one mentioned my brother again.

"So it's time to choose," Finnick declared. "Are you training together or separately?" I shot Ronan a glance. He shrugged, more focused on the bacon in front of him.

"I want to train together," I told Finnick. "At least for now." I wanted to know what Ronan was capable of. Not that I planned to fight him. But I wanted to know enough to avoid him. He said nothing, so the matter seemed to be settled.

"Alright. You'll train together for now then. Let me know when you want to change it. Now as for your own strategies, Ronan I've seen you out on the boats. You're good with a spear and you're strong as well. I'm guessing you're not too shabby with knives either?"

"You guess right," Ronan confirmed confidently. Ronan was strong, capable in nearly every area. But while he was a good fisher, and a strong fighter, he wasn't the strongest swimmer. If there was any water in the arena, I had some hope.

"And you Cora?" Finnick asked.

"I can shoot a slingshot," I began. Finnick raised his eyebrows, and Ronan couldn't contain a snort of amusement. Of course. A slingshot wouldn't do me much good. Straightening myself up in my chair, I went on. "And I can use a spear and nets if I had to. Not to mention I'm a good swimmer." I chose not to say anything using a staff, until I could be certain it would be an option. I wasn't sure how Finnick would react to my decision not to use anything that could actually kill someone, and I wasn't about to discuss the promise I'd made to myself earlier on the train.

My mentor nodded calmly. "I think we can work with that," he decided, "Now eat fast. We don't want to be late." After breakfast concluded, we met Julietta in the elevator, and headed down to the training rooms. Ronan was still too haughty to talk to me, and Julietta only had eyes for Finnick. I found myself wishing Cinna was there. Though he was a part of the Capitol, something about him was much more inviting than the rest of this. I felt safe with him. My mind wandered back through last night, to questions and to conversations and to the old picture of him. He really had looked so handsome that way… But I shook the thought from my head. I needed to focus on training now. There was no room for silly distractions. If I could figure out what I was up against, I could at least find a way to avoid the worst of things for as long as possible.

The training sessions went by quickly. I traveled around with Ronan from station to station for the most part. He was going all out, showing off his skills with a spear and knives. He was good. Terrifying really. And he wanted to make sure everyone saw that. Soon enough, he made an alliance with the other Careers. The tributes from 1, Diamond and Peris, and Sloane and Flint from 2. Even Aya, the girl from 3 had been added to the group. But he never invited me to join the alliance. We split up, and I spent the last day and half wandering around alone to other stations. I practiced a few knots, and fiddled with berries and leaves at the camouflage station. I used to love painting, and it wasn't too different. Finally I found some rods to use in place of a staff. I felt strong practicing old routines. I imagined Tyde guiding me carefully through each step.

I watched the other tributes too. Edison, the boy from 3 seemed to be pretty handy, and fast as well, his hands firing a few fast rounds of arrows at a target. Ursula, the girl from 5 wa scary with an axe. From 10, Dolly and Wilbur were both very strong. But it was the two tributes from District 12 that really caught my eye. They were very thin, yet something about them made them appear strong. Determined. Iris and Ford were their names. The first day, the moved together, but just like Ronan and I, they began to travel through the stations apart. According to Julietta's gossip they had "awful table manners." I felt sorry for them. They both looked as if they'd never had enough to eat. And from what I knew of District 12, they probably hadn't. Iris looked to only be about 13, with gray eyes darker than my own. Ford must have been somewhere around 16. The night before, they were dressed as coal miners. As usual. The stylists always did the same thing for District 12. I wondered if it was because the stylists resented their assignment, or if none ever stayed long enough to create something different. If I made an alliance with anyone, I wanted it to be with one of them. If I couldn't make it out alive, maybe I could at least help them to stay alive a little longer.

On the last day, the Gamemakers called the tributes down throughout lunch. Our group sat together at our apartment dining table, eating and making polite conversation once more. Finnick was praising Ronan on his knife skills.

"And you weren't too bad either Cora. You're a good climber, and not too slow on your feet. And you hit the target with the spear. You've got some spark left in you yet." His eyes were bright as he spoke and I was glad he took notice of my training. Finnick was my lifeline in the arena, giving advice and gathering sponsors- that was, if I had any sponsors. I wondered if he saw me training with the rods, and had chosen not to mention it. Or maybe he just hadn't noticed. He disappeared every now and then, off to some unnamed place in the city, and returned each time with scents of perfume clinging to his skin. We never asked where he'd been. We didn't have to. But either way, he didn't mention it, and I didn't bring it up. I wanted some part of my strategy to remain hidden from Ronan's sharp eyes.

"You're doing great so far," Cinna agreed, stepping into the room, Annette following closely. I haven't seen him for the past two days- the stylists were probably busy gathering ideas for the interview tomorrow night. I was surprised how much I missed his calm presence. I gave him a grateful smile, then noticed his face. The yellow lipstick and magenta eye shadow were gone- as were the contacts. His eyes were a lovely green, more vivid than the picture he had shown me. Up close, they held flecks of gold. All that remained of his makeup was a light layer of gold eyeliner. He winked at me, and I realized I was staring.

"Thought I might try something… natural for a change," he teased. "I have to admit, I felt kind of… bare without it all. I gave up and added the eyeliner."

"No, I think it looks nice," I reassured him. And it did. "Just enough. A finishing touch." Cinna laughs and picks at his sandwich.

"It doesn't quite match with blue hair the way I'd expected. I'll have to change that back sometime too." There was a list, carefully accumulating in my head, of all the things I wouldn't get to see after I entered the arena, all of the things I would miss. Cinna with brown hair was one more thing to add. There wasn't much time to mourn the depressing litany though.

"District 4 to the training rooms," called a mechanical voice. Ronan and I stood up, and left the room, as the adults shouted a few words of encouragement.

* * *

 _Cinna_

Finnick was impatient for the training scores. Understandably so. He wanted to know how much help he would have to give each one in terms of sponsors. Or at least that was what he told us. Truthfully, I thought he just wanted to know how much of a shot they had. Though he seemed so confident and carefree, he really did worry about them.

I glimpse over at the two tributes. Ronan was stretched out on the couch, his feet resting on the coffee table. He always looked so self-assured. Cora had distanced herself a bit from him, hands folded tightly in her lap. She was nervous. Seeing that Annette and Julietta had occupied themselves with Finnick, I decided to take a seat next to Cora. She didn't even blink. Her eyes were glued to the television screen, which had just announced that the scores are coming up. She practically radiated fear. All of her cheer had quieted down, the reality of the Games settling over her. I remembered the conversation a few nights ago on the balcony. The way Annette's question about her brother had affected her so much. I wanted nothing more than to help this girl. She was so honest, so gentle, so alive. If I could promise her she would be okay, if I could protect her from all that was to come, I would have.

Instead, I reached over and touch her hand, startling her.

"It's okay," I told her. "Don't worry. How'd the private session go?"

Cora bit her lip, anxious. "I think it went alright. I just hope I made enough of an impression." Cesear Flickerman inturrupts her, appearing onscreen to eagerly announce the scores of each tribute. The tributes from 1 and 2 all score eights to tens. The girl from 3 gets a nine, and the boy pulls a 6. And then it is time for District 4.

"Ronan Spare, from District 4. Score…" Silence in the room, as all of us held our breath. "Ten!" Cheers erupted, and Finnick clapped a hand on the boy's back approvingly.

"That's what I wanted to see!" the bronze-haired man laughed.

"Nice job Ro," Cora said, her voice soft.

"Thanks," he replied grinning. Cora's picture flashed on the screen, and we fell quiet once more.

"And next, from 4, Cora Sweetgale, with a score of… seven." I watched her eyes widen in surprise as she gasped.

"Seven! Seven! We can do Seven!" Finnick looked delighted. Though Ronan's score was higher, Cora's had surprised him far more.

"Perfect, perfect scores both of you!" Julietta giggled. Annette nodded her agreement, watching the screen. Cora still looked to be in shock. The room grew quiet as the other scores passed, but I squeezed Cora's hand, in an effort to calm her. The other districts scored across the board. The girl from 5 received a nine. The boy from 8 only gets a five. Both tributes from 12 end up with threes. Annette turned off the screen, and we turned to Cora.

"What did you do in there?" I asked encouragingly.

"I started off with some knots I knew from sailing," she started. "But then they got bored, so I tried throwing a spear. I hit the target a few times. Then I did a little bit with this rod, trying to use it like a fighting staff. I did well with the practice dummies, and I did an old practice routine my brother had taught me once. I didn't think they were really paying attention to me… until I dropped misjudged earlier on. The staff flew out of my hands and hit the wall. It was loud enough to startle them." She told he story with a shaky, uncertain voice. But Finnick looked impressed.

"I never knew Tyde showed you how to use a staff. That might just be your thing in the arena." Then he laughed. "Great way to get their attention though." We all chuckled, and I squeezed Cora's hand once more.

"Told you so," I smirked. Cora flushed in response.

"Thank you Cinna."

After dinner concluded, a bit of a celebration for the night, I left the group to head back to my apartment. There were only two days left until the big night. The moment where everything could come together, or fall apart. And I would not let Cora fall apart. She had such life. Such strength that she hadn't even recognized. I wanted her to make an impression tomorrow night. Once inside, I headed straight for my work bench to start sketching. Yes, they would remember Cora. The girl from the sea. She'd be beautiful- more radiant than the stars themselves. That was a promise I could make her.


	6. 6) An Angle

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read this story! Really, it means a lot. I hope you've enjoyed it thus far. Reviews and comments are always welcome. Thank you to lexiriley for following this!**

 _Cora_

Julietta woke Ronan and I up early so we could begin to prep for the interview tomorrow night. After a quick breakfast, Finnick decided to take Ronan with him to pick an angle, while Julietta would be helping me with "proper manners." What was it about the Capitol citizens and manners?

Julietta went straight to work. "The key," she told me, "is to showcase your femininity." I stared at her, eyebrows raised.

"Femininity?" I asked, suspicion creeping into my voice. Julietta sighed, flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Yes darling, femininity. Be charming, proud. Show them who you are!" To demonstrate, she strutted across the room, her hand on her hip, high heels clacking across the floor. Julietta was poise and swaying curves. I was the opposite. She gave me a long dress and a pair of high shoes to wear, and for the next hour, I tottered my way around the room, tripping every now and then.

Julietta tried to encourage me with frustrated shouts of, "Chin up higher! Eyes ahead! Don't raise the skirt to high! Chest out! And for goodness sakes, watch out for the-" Once more I ran into the coffee table, and Julietta sighed with a dramatic resignation. After much more practice, I finally managed to walk across the room without falling. With that accomplished, we moved to proper waving, proper posture, proper hand placement. Graceful but flowing, straight yet sophisticated, at the sides on the hips. Always proper.

"And don't forget a smile," she added. "A nice mysterious, inviting smile." I tried, but the result was something of a disbelieving grimace. "Just smile normally. You won't win over the men at all," Julietta relented in disappointment. We smiled and waved and walked more, before she sends me off to Finnick, somewhat satisfied that though I was not as feminine as she had hoped, I could at least behave myself properly.

Finnick and I spent our time working out an angle, a side, a way to present me to Panem.

"Ronan will be fierce and fearless," he said. It probably didn't take long to determine that. Ronan's courage was clear. "So how shall we play you?"

I fiddled with my shirt. "Do I have to find an angle? Can't I just be myself?" I mumbled.

"You could. But that alone won't help much." His eyes were gentle as he regarded me. "We have to define you," my mentor declared. "Let's try our options. Just pretend I'm the interviewer. Answer my questions in a way that matches the approach I give you." And so that was just what we did. The first few options confirmed what Julietta had already told me. I was not mysterious or sexy or even remotely sultry. I hadn't particularly wanted to be those things anyways. If I was going to be presented, I wanted to be more than just some girl to look at. So we tried fearless like Ronan, but Finnick felt I was "too modest" to pull that off. So we tried humble. It worked fair enough- though Finnick didn't like the idea of downplaying everything. By the end of it all, I was exhausted from being so many people.

"Finnick, if I'm defining myself, can't my definition be more like me?" Running his hands over his face, he leaned back into the couch, searching for ideas. And after a few more "interview questions" he's found one.

"We'll do hopeful," he announced enthusiastically. "Hopeful will work." I tilted my head, asking for further explanation, and he continued. "Just smile. Be happy. Say you're in awe of the Capitol and it's features. You love the support from the people. Talk about how you hope to do good, how you hope to come home. Find something to be hopeful for, to look forward to. Be humble, but just enough that you're still confident in yourself. And be brave. Let them know that you are afraid, but that you plan to overcome those fears. And make it back. Give them something to hope for." Finnick was rather pleased with himself at the end of his speech. And it was a relief for me, too. Hopeful. I could be hopeful.

Cinna and Annette were back for dinner that night. We didn't talk as much. I trie to make conversation with Ronan, with the knowledge that in two days, we'll be enemies. There would be no time for small talk then.

"Ready for that interview? I hear you're going with fearless tomorrow night Ro," I offered. During training I had deliberately shortened his name, in an effort to create some sort of possible bond- some sort of hope for an alliance. It was something intimate, implying connection and familiarity. It seemed to have worked. At least now, we were chatting somewhat amicably.

"Of course I'm ready. There's nothing I can't handle, Coral," he shot back. He won't let me be the only one to change names. In school back home, our teacher had been of hearing. She always tried to call my Coral, the same name as her grand-daughter. At the training center he had slipped up and called me that, and so we had kept at it the past two days. But tonight, Ronan was distant. Nothing followed his reply. I sat awkwardly in the silence, until Cinna spokes up.

"What about you Cora? Are you ready?" he asked, with the same warm smile I've become accustomed to.

"You tell me, will I be ready?" I teased. I really did want to know what Cinna had in store for me. Annette claimed he was spending far too much time working these past evenings, and not making enough rounds at the parties frequented by the stylists and escorts.

"Well I can't say that now. A magician never reveals his secrets," he laughed.

"If you designed it, I'm sure it will be just like magic," I said. Cinna blinked, and his smile softened.

"Thank you Cora," he said.

Dinner finished, and once more the team went our separate ways. I crawled into the warm bed and pulled the white blankets up to my ears, grateful for the ease at which I fell asleep. It could have been my last chance to sleep soundly.  
The next morning, I woke to find Cinna standing over me.


	7. 7) An Interview

**Author's Note: At the risk of sounding too Mary-Sue-esque, I wanted to make a note about this chapter. There are similarities and references to things that occur in the actual books, especially between Cinna and Katniss, but those were made deliberately. I had always found Cinna's demeanor to be so intentional, and I wondered why that was. It was as though he had planned everything out. As though he had practiced it before. And so, with the head-cannon that Cinna had lied about the 74th Games being his first as a stylist, I wanted to create reasons for certain actions. I'm hoping Cinna doesn't seem too OOC, but rather as though his character is still being developed.**

 _Cinna_

The day began early. My plan had been to send the Prep team to wake Cora, but Sinjin had lost track of the polishes and it takes all three of my team to find them. They asked me to bring her down to them instead. As quietly as possible, I made my way up the elevator to the District 4 apartment. Finnick was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee. Upon seeing me, he simply nodded in the direction of what I assumed must be Cora's room. I find her sleeping, wrapped tightly in a cocoon of blankets. Here, she was at peace, relaxed. It seemed cruel to wake her from whatever good dreams she had left to savor. I shook her shoulder lightly, and she bolted upright immediately, blinking at me in confusion.

"Good morning. The Prep team is downstairs waiting for you, if you'll come with me," I whispered. She nodded, looking flustered as she grabbed for a robe to throw over her nightgown. We left the apartment, Finnick giving us a silent wave, as I took her hand to lead her to the Prep room, where I turned her over to the team. They kept her there all morning, and I knew what they would be busy with. Exactly what I'd ordered in order to prepare her for tonight- white nails, and light make-up. Sparkling blue and white eye shadow and long lashes, traced by blue liner. Soft pink lips, just enough blush. Swirling patterns across her arms to look like water, tiny dots on her cheekbones that would look like little pearls, reminiscent of the ones that hung from her eyelashes at the parade. A shimmering white powder that would give the image of sunlight on the water. Hours later, the Prep team gave me their approval to enter with the dress. They moved to the back of the room, giving me a full view of Cora.

She was stunning. She was beautiful. There were no words to say, so I simply smiled. Her long hair had been made smooth and silky, and the make-up worked perfectly. Not too over the top, simply light layers to highlight the beauty I knew we could pull out of her. Standing before me, she looked like a princess of the sea. She gave me a nervous look, not having seen it for herself yet.

"Come here," I beckoned. "Let's get you dressed before you see yourself. Close your eyes now." I wanted her to be surprised, and she did as I asked. Cora stood patiently as I slipped the dress over her head and adjusted it. "Alright," I murmured, once it was in place and fastened. "Take a look." Immediately, she turned to the mirror.

The gown was a shimmering white, the exact shade of a pearl, accented with the gem itself. It hung down just above her ankles, with sleeves that fell off her shoulders, allowing her to move freely. Small blue gemstones on the bottom worked their way up from the hem to about midway on the skirt of the dress, appearing to give the illusion of moving water. She stood speechless, staring at the image in the mirror.

"Cinna," she said softly. "This is beautiful." She beamed at me, and felt just as lost for words. I moved to help her into her shoes, tiny white flats. Then, the finishing touches. A pure white flower with strings of pearl beads in her hair, and a short necklace. It was a silver chain, from which hung a tiny pearl. I hung two long pearl necklaces around it.

"You look beyond beautiful," I told her. Her face went red. Embarrassed. I didn't want her to feel self-conscious before the interview. I tried to lighten the mood. "Now twirl," I instructed. Cora looked up at me, eyebrows raised. I took her hand and raised it up, making her the image of a ballet dancer. "Twirl," I repeated. "Twirl for me." Cora twirled around and around, still holding on to my hand.

"So lovely," I laughed as I stopped spinning her, pulling her closer, and placing both of my hands on hers to steady her. It was nearly time. I dismissed the prep team to help Cora with the last minute details. She paced the room a few times to ensure she felt comfortable in her outfit. As she did, I caught her glancing back at me.

"Are you worried?" I asked. She paused, and thought for a moment before answering.

"I… don't want to lose myself in there," she whispered. I wanted to reassure her, I wanted to help her. I could give her clothes and costumes, but that wasn't what she needed in this moment.

"Don't worry," I said gently. "You won't. You're strong." Though not much, not nearly enough, the words carried weight.

"Thank you for this Cinna," Cora said. "You know, all this time, I thought the stylists were just here to make the tributes look pretty for a few days. But you've done so much more." Her eyes were full of gratitude. "You've let me make an impression." My heart swelled at this. It was possible I had given her a chance. A chance to make it out of the arena alive. It was small, but it was something. An impression. That was what I wanted to give her.

"I can't take all the credit now. You've got some spirit in you. That's what's really going to get the sponsors going. Now Finnick tells me you're going to go for a 'hopeful' approach?" Cora nodded.

"But what if I can't?" she asked. "What if I get nervous? If they don't like me?" How could anyone not?

"They're going to love you Cora," I reassured her.

She was still anxious. "But what if they don't?" Her voice was so soft, so full of fear. She wasn't trying to be brave anymore.

"Cora," I began softly. I needed to choose my words carefully. What did she need? Something comfortable, something familiar. "When you're up there, it helps to imagine you're speaking to a friend. Am I a friend?" She nodded, and relief washed over me. "When you're on the stage, look straight at me. I'll be on the main platform in the crowd. You'll be able to see me easily. Just pretend that it's me asking the questions. Just the two of us talking together. I'll be there the whole time, watching with a smile."

The bravery returned. "I think I can do that," she told me. I offered her my arm, and she took it, as I escorted her to the elevator to meet with the rest of the District 4 group.

"Besides," I added as we walked. "I know for a fact they're going to love you. I already do." Cora said nothing, but I could see a soft smile across her face. She had spirit. She had hope. She could do this.

* * *

 _Cora_

I waited outside the stage, in front of Ronan and behind the boy from 3, Edison. Ronan's suit was a stunning bright blue, with bits of silver waves along the edges and a bright silver shirt. He looked charming enough, and the sharp silver, along with the way is shirt was slightly undone, helped with the fierce edge. I was probably biased, but I couldn't help thinking that Cinna's designs were better than Annette's- really better than most of the other District's. For a first year stylist, he had all of the genius and grace of someone well beyond his experience.

At that moment, the girl from 1, Diamond was her name, took the stage, in a short, jewel-accented, pink velvet dress. It made her look beautiful, though I wasn't sure whether it was the dress or its wearer that made the impression. The boy followed, in a deep magenta suit that reminded me of the way Cinna's eyes looked with the contacts in. His angle was arrogant all the way. Or perhaps he was just being himself. It could be hard to tell sometimes. 2 and 3 rushed by, and before I knew it, Edison was bowing along with Cesear Flickerman. And then Caesar called my name. I took a deep breath, and slowly walked onto the stage.

The lights were blinding, yet I could see that the crowd was huge, and the roar was deafening. I took my seat and Ceaser quieted them down. It was hard to look at him- he dyed himself pure white this year and he looked like a ghost. But I smiled pleasantly for him as I shook his hand.

"Welcome, welcome Cora. So may I ask, what do you think of the Capitol so far?" he asked. I inhaled, and turned to the crowd. Sure enough, on the main platform, was Cinna. Cinna, who I could trust. Cinna, who was my friend. Cinna, who wanted to hear what I have to say. So I smiled for him.

"Of course you can. Um, the city was a little intimidating at first," I offered. "So many tall buildings and so many people. But it's so open. So full of life. And I think I'm starting to enjoy my time here. Not to mention the showers are..." I stopped quickly, flustered. The showers? But Caesar was waiting, and I could make out Cinna, nodding encouragingly. Cinna wanted to know what I thought. I went on. "The showers, you can change the way the water smells. I realized I could set them to salt. And to me, it smells like home."

"I have to admit Cora, I think I'd feel right at home on the sunny beaches of your District as well," Caesar joked. "I've been getting a little pale lately." His colorless hair and complexion were shocking, like snow in the sunlight. The audience laughed at this, and I relaxed.

"Now tell me Cora, you must be a strong swimmer, obviously. But other than that, what sort of strategy do you plan to use in the arena?" he continued.

What had I planned? "If I'm lucky the arena will be an ocean," I suggested, getting a few chuckles from the crowd. "But if not, I'll just have to make do. I can use a few basic weapons. And I'm good at hiding. But I won't give up. You can trust me on that one," I said proudly. I wasn't one to quit. Especially on the promise I had made to myself. But I would never mention that to Caesar, before the other tributes and all of Panem.

"I wouldn't dream of doubting you my dear. I could never doubt such a lovely girl. You look simply ravishing tonight may I add. Like you came straight out of the sea." Caesar piled on the praise and I felt my cheeks reddening again.

"Why thank you," I replied cheerfully. "My stylist is brilliant- just wonderful. I still can't believe it all. It's the most beautiful thing I think I've ever seen." In the crowd, Cinna gestured upward with his hand. Following his lead, I stood up, turning to let the audience get a better look.

"Well that really is something," Caesar chuckles. "Like a pearl straight from the sea. And Cora, is it true your brother came here not too long ago himself?" My voice caught in my throat. Why Caesar, why did you ask me that? Why now? We were getting along so well. I fixed my gaze on the gold-rimmed eyes in the crowd once more, silently cheering me on.

"Yes," I told him quietly. "My brother Tyde was in the 69th Hunger Games. He didn't come home." I stared down at the lovely dress Cinna had made me, and Caesar placed his hand on mine.

"I'm so sorry Cora. But I bet right now, he's looking at you, and he's proud of you. Cora, one last question. Do you plan to win?"

I knew this answer. "I'm not sure Caesar. But I'll try my very best. To make my brother proud." Trying to look brave, I sat up straighter. "I'll try very hard to win. Because I have something worth coming home for." My eyes have not left Cinna.

The buzzer sounded, and Caesar took my hand, as we stood.

"Ladies and gentleman, a big hand for District 4's own Cora Sweetgale! The princess of the sea!" He cried, much to the crowd's enjoyment. I smiled, I bowed, and I kept contact with those green eyes until I left the stage.

* * *

 _Cinna_

The rest of the interviews have finished up, though I hadn't paid much attention to them. Ronan was fierce. The girl from 5 was tough as nails. The tributes from 9 had odd names, and both tributes from 12 were quiet, nervous. They didn't make much of an impression on anyone but those who sympathized with them. I hoped their mentor would help them- though Haymitch Abernathy didn't have much of a reputation for being sober enough to get sponsors.

No matter. I waited with Finnick, Annette and Julietta as the well-dressed tributes filed off the stage and made their way to their District teams. Ronan swaggered over to us, Cora followed quietly and gracefully behind him. Caesar was right. She was radiant, ravishing, beautiful. The moment she spun a little on stage, she caught some eyes. She made a deeper impression. But some part of me whispered that still, she twirled only for me.

"Nice job you two!" Finnick cheered, resting his hands on their shoulders. "The fierce warrior and the hopeful princess. They loved you." He sounded proud, very proud of each of them. And Cora looked happy to get some praise from her mentor. As we walked, Julietta mentioned that many of her friends had fallen for Ronan's good looks. Meanwhile, Cora fell into step beside me.

"How did I do?" she asked, peering up at me through her long eyelashes.

"You were marvelous, my princess of the sea." I teased. She giggled, and it was such a hopeful sound. I wanted to live in that laughter.

"Your royal highness will suit just fine Cinna," Cora joked back. She curtsied, and I looped my arm through hers as Finnick led us to the elevator.

Annette and I said farewell to the rest of the group at their floor. I let go of Cora's arm, by held her hand for a beat longer.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning Cora. Get some rest before then." I instructed her.

"I will. Goodnight Cinna," she nodded.

"Goodnight," I said. She turned one last time to smile at me before she disappeared through the doors with the rest of the team. I followed Annette back down the elevator, and to the apartments where we would stay during the Games. She stopped just before we parted ways, her arm on my elbow, her fierce yellow eyes boring into me. I stared back at her, startled, confused, but she held her strong gaze.

"We need to talk Cinna," she said, an unusual chill in her voice. Annette was one to get straight to the point. She didn't hold back her thoughts, and she was notoriously blunt.

"What do you want to talk about Annette?" I asked.

"I think you know very well what I want to talk about Cinna." Despite her sharp words, I tried to maintain my composure. "It's about Cora."

She said Cora's name like an insult. I pinched the bridge of my nose, in an effort to stop the headache I could feel coming on.

"Look Annette, I don't know what you're mad about but don't bring her into this."

"It's a little late for that isn't it? Bringing her into it? You know the rules here Cinna. Don't get involved." Her words like arrows, but I couldn't determine just what target she was trying to hit.

"I honestly don't know what you're-"

"Don't play games with me Cinna!" she cried. "I've seen the way you look at her! The way you gravitate towards her. It's in your eyes! Admit it! You _feel_ something for that girl!" I stood stupefied. My words had flown somewhere far away from that accusation. Did I feel something for her? For Cora? As soon as the I allowed myself to ask the question, I knew the answer. I could do nothing but stare blankly at my partner. She shook her head, part disbelief and part disappointment.

"You always did care too much," Annette said, the edge gone from voice. "Cinna, I know, it's not fair. But this is the way it has to be. Forget about that girl. Save yourself the trouble and the pain. She's as good as gone." And with that Annette walked away, leaving me with the revelation I hadn't seen before. Perhaps I had seen it. I just couldn't admit it. I couldn't admit what now seemed to blatantly clear.

I hurried into my own apartment, collapsed into the couch. I tore through the sketchbooks still laying on the coffee table, hoping for a distracting. Each page was the opposite. Pictures of the ocean, waves and fish scales. Color palettes of peals. The girl, floors above me, wearing dress after dress. The last page I came across was from the night before, when I had hit a creative block. I had been trying to get back into a place of inspiration. Scattered across the page were vignettes of Cora, over and over. All those gray eyes looked back at me, forcing me to face what I had been hoping to avoid.

I had fallen for a tribute.


	8. 8) A Promise

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read this story so far! Thanks to Arianna Le Fay and KC99 who followed this. And a very big thank you to Drimali who took the time to write such a thoughtful review- and especially for pointing out some of the typos/editing inconsistencies that I'd missed! It was a huge help. I hope you'll continue to read the upcoming chapters. And now, let the Games begin...**

 _Cora_

Somehow I had found sleep, but it was restless, filled with haunting images of my brother, of the games, of the way Cesear's makeup erased the color from face. And then I was awake, and Cinna was waiting beside my bed. It could tell it was early. Beyond my curtains the windows were dark.

"It's time to go Cora," he said. Cinna looked tired, as though he hadn't gotten enough sleep either. I got up, and changed quickly into the simple white dress he had laid on the end of my bed. I glanced at his own clothes- black pants and a gold sweater that matched his eyeliner, and the same shade as the tiny gold flecks in his eyes.

"You look nice," I offered as we left my room. I had to say something, I had to keep conversation, doing something to push back the worry that rose in my throat.

"You said you liked gold," he replied plainly. I did. And I had said it looked good on him. He remembered. We passed through the kitchen on our way out, where Finnick sat with his coffee. When he saw me, he stood and walked over to us, placing tight hands on my shoulders.

"Don't be afraid," he told me. "Just grab whatever is close to you and run. You can do this Cora. You can come back." My mentor pulled me in for a quick hug. His arms were strong, and his words were like a plea. For all his confidence in Ronan, he held out hope for me too.

"Thank you Finnick," I said, hoping he understood just how much I wanted him for. For helping me. For being a friend to my brother. For believing in me. Cinna led me outside where the hovercraft waited, and I climbed onto the ladder. I was frozen in place, while a white-coated woman appeared with a syringe.

"Give me your arm," she commanded, and I obeyed. There was a sharp pain inside my arm as she inserted the needle. "Just your tracker, so we won't lose you in the arena." She removed her needle, and the ladder pulled me in, Cinna right behind me. Inside was a room set up with breakfast. It was possible that would be my last meal. We sat at the table, and I took in all the food laid out before us.

"Eat," Cinna urged. "And drink too. You'll need it once the Games begin." I grabbed for pancakes, fruit, and water. Cinna took only some bread for himself. I ate as much of the food as I could muster, and then we sat, watching out the windows as the city passed below us. The fear began to seep back through me, but thankfully Cinna spoke up.

"So what did you do back home?" he asked me. "In District 4." District 4. My home. From the Capitol sky, it seemed so far away, so unreachable.

"Well, I went to school. I had a few friends. Halle and Lucas, they were my best friends. We always hung out together after school on the beach. And sometimes we went fishing. We went out on these big boats, all together. I wasn't good with a spear, but I could catch them in my nets. When it was warm we would just sail for a while. I swam. A lot. I love swimming," I wanted so badly to be back in the calm waters of the ocean. "My mother, she tried to teach me different things. I learned to play the piano, and to sing. I used to paint a bit. And Halle tried to teach me to cook. Though I could never make anything like the food here. I wasn't very good." I was rambling now, thinking of anything I to tell Cinna, to keep calm.

"Do you miss it? And your friends?" He was trying to distract me, and I appreciated that.

"Yes. I miss the smell of the saltwater, and the fish, and the warm sun. I miss my friends. They came to say goodbye to me. My parents came first, but they were so upset. They could hardly bear to talk to me. Then Halle came in crying, with oranges. She said she wanted to give me something sweet before I left. And Lucas came after her, to wish me good luck. I think he was the calmest. He hugged me, and gave me my token. A few kids and an old teacher from school. And that was it. I miss them so much." Desperation cracked in my voice and I hurried to regain a steady tone. Cinna watched me with curiosity, and something else that flickered in his eyes.

"Lucas. Is he someone you want to go back to?" He spoke flatly.

"Lucas?" I laughed. Cinna had misinterpreted it. "Lucas is with Halle. But they're my friends. Of course I want to see them again." It was a far off wish, but there was always a chance. Cinna looked relieved.

"Oh," he said. "I see." He fell silent again, and this time, I didn't mind. It was a comfortable quiet. I ate, and drank more water, and soon enough, we were at the arena, the windows blacking out to obstruct our view. The hovercraft landed and I followed Cinna out, into the catacombs below. My heart began to beat faster as we walked through the halls. Any calm Cinna had given me on the flight over was gone. This was it. This was the arena. The Games would begin here. I could die here. We entered my Launch Room, fresh, clean, ready to prepare me for the arena.

I headed to the shower first, for one last soak in the waters. I set them to smell like salt. It took me only three minutes, including the few seconds needed for the shower to dry my hair. I change into the undergarments from the arena uniform. Cinna was waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom with the rest of the uniform. He helped me change into it- a light blue tank top with a high neck, and fitted black pants. I slipped my feet into thin socks and a pair of warm black boots. When I hold my arms out, Cinna pulls a thick gray jacket over them. Though his hands were warm, I shivered when they brushed against my shoulders. He looked me over with a careful eye, trying to guess what sort of environment awaited in the arena.

"It could really go a few different ways, but I'm guessing it's going to be a little cold in there," he decided. Cold. I was used to District 4 sun, that I wondered just how much cold I would have to face. "Stand still for moment," Cinna said. With steady hands, he tied my hair into a loose, low bun. "You don't want to have to worry about your hair once you get in there." Then he reaches into his pocket. "One last thing- your token." I'd nearly forgotten about that. Cinna pulled out the pearl bracelet from his pocket, the one that belonged to Lucas's older sister. She once dated my brother, Tyde had given to her as a gift not long before he died. Lucas thought it was only fitting that it should come full circle. The bracelet was small, but the pearls were braided tightly into the strong twine. Cinna tied around my wrist, where I knew it would be secure.

"The perfect touch for the girl from the sea," he murmured. We waited together on the couch, and I tried to eat some more bread and sip the water. But it was harder to keep back the panic now.

"Cora," Cinna said, breaking the silence. "What is it that you wanted to come home to?" I blinked, wondering why he was asking me that now. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. When I said that, it had been spontaneous. It came out in a rush of hope, something I never expected to give an answer to. And I could've made something up, I could've said nothing in response to Cinna's question. But I knew what the answer was. One that had been pulling quietly at my heart for days. It ran through my mind in midst of restless sleep. A wish among nightmares. I figured I had nothing to lose. And so I decided to say it out loud.

"I was thinking that I wanted to come home to- to come back to-you," I whispered. My face had gone red, and immediately I wanted to take the words back out of the air. What was I doing? I needed to focus. The Games. The arena. But Cinna was looking at me now, his eyes bright and relieved, but sadness was plain in his face. Relieved? Did he feel the same? What did he think of my confession?

"Cora. Please. Try to win," he begged. I looked away.

"I don't know if I can," I admitted. The hope I had felt during the interview seemed miles away now. And if I hope was gone I would at least hold on to honesty. "I made a promise, after my brother died. I promised myself that I wouldn't let anyone else feel that pain, not if I could prevent it." My voice caught now, finally understanding the gravity of my decision. It was one thing to be there for friends who had lost someone to the Games, to illness or the ocean. But this was a bigger sacrifice than I had ever understood to how to make. "And so I won't kill anyone in there. I can't. I can't be the cause of someone else's pain."

Cinna started to speak, but stopped short of words. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. "I respect that Cora," he said gently. "But please. Promise me you'll at least try to stay alive."

"I think I can promise that much." I replied back. He his arms around, me pulling me into him, into the gold sweater, the sweater that he had worn because I liked the color, close enough to feel his heart. Cinna held me there longer than he needed to, and I thought, I dared to hope, that I knew what he was trying to tell me. Why was this happening? Why now? Why when I was about to die? It wasn't until he pulled me so close that I realized how badly my body was shaking. I was afraid of dying after all. Did I have a chance in that arena? There was something else I needed to know.

"Cinna, who would you bet on?" I asked, the desperation clear in my voice. Julietta had explained once the customary Capitol celebrations. There were parties for watching and sponsoring tributes, and of course there was an official betting pool. Those who had ties to the tributes- the stylists, and escorts for example- were barred from official betting. But they had their opinions, and I needed someone who wasn't Finnick- whose job was to encourage me- to tell me whether they thought I would make it out of the arena alive. I could trust Cinna. Cinna who was my friend. Who felt like far more. He would tell me the truth. Cinna pulsed away to look at me, puzzled.

"Cora, I'm not allowed to bet," he said.

"I know, I know," I waved it off. "But Cinna, if you could bet, who would you bet on?" It was so silly, such a stupid question. But I wanted to know. I needed to know. He considered this, then responded with a certainty in his eyes.

"I would bet on you Cora. I would bet on you." He was being honest with me. Perhaps it was a stupid bet. But it was the one he would make. Cinna would bet on me. At that moment, he leaned in and kissed my forehead. "I would bet on you," he murmured again.

A robotic voice announced that the launch would be in three minutes. I rose from the couch, trembling harder. Cinna was right there beside me, holding me tight. Everything we said was being moved with great care to the back of my mind. My only thoughts could be of the Games. Of surviving. Of hope. Now we were no more than stylist and tribute, below the arena, comforting one another in these last moments. Two minutes. One. Thirty seconds. Cinna kissed my forehead once more.

"You can do this," he whispered. He squeezed my hand twice, and I stepped into the Launch pod, the glass lowering around me. There was no turning back. I locked eyes with Cinna, gray set on green. He nodded, steady. Twenty seconds. I pressed my hands against the glass. I was not ready for this, I was shaking, how could this be happening to me, I was going to die. Cinna was still nodding his reassurance. I had promised I would try to live. I had promised him. The plate was rising into the dark, and Cinna was gone. I was going to die. And then, I was in the arena.

Everything was so bright. The voice of the announcer, Claudius Templesmith came on, echoing all around. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the 72nd annual Hunger Games begin!" The sixty seconds began. I tried to take in as much as I could. We were at the base of a large stone mountain in a grassy clearing. To the right, there was a small section of woods, and to the left the grass gave way to sand. Behind us seemed to be a swamp. Three sections and a mountain. I would have to choose. At the Cornucopia, a bounty awaited those who were brave enough to take it. Inside I could see food, powerful weapons, and other gadgets and necessity items. I wasn't going to risk taking the bait. I'd have to make things work on my own. I spied a backpack, only a few yards away from me. I don't know what was it, but I would have to take the chance. Across the field, Ronan eyed the Cornucopia. He had made his choice. And if he made it out of the bloodbath alive, he would join the Career pack, who almost always got the majority of the bounty. I would try to hide. I would try to stay alive. I had promised Cinna that much. The gong sounded.

Stumbling off the platform, I sprinted across the grass and snatched up the backpack, just barely grabbing the strap. I thanked the Gamemakers for leaving it so close by, and slung it over my shoulders, as I took off running towards the woods as fast as my legs could carry me.

 _Cinna_

I fell back against the couch, a sigh of relief escaping me. She made it out of the first bloodbath unharmed. She had a backpack which should've contained some sort of useful items. She was okay for now. Ronan was alive as well, though the Cornucopia was brutal. The screen flashed updates of who was dead- Aya Ping from 3, Bard Canid from 5, Avantine Loom from 8, both from 9, Aglet Wispus and Osric Cumulo. Flores Ceris from 11. Ford Loac from 12. I wondered if they had someone they had wanted to go back to. Had they made promises they would be unable to keep? Seven were dead so far and the first day had only just begun. But more would surely fall. On screen, Career pack scouted the area near the Cornucopia- where the two tributes from 1, Diamond and Peris, decided the group would camp out. Those two, Ronan, and the tributes from 2, Sloan and Flint, made up the Careers. I wondered if the girl from 7, Ursula, would eventually join them. She was certainly tough enough to. The Cornucopia bloodbath had ended, and now there was nothing to do but wait for the cameras to find Cora again. I pulled out my sketchbook and began to draw absent-mindedly. I wasn't watching the screen, but I left it on, just in case Claudius or Caesar said her name. Just in case I needed to watch. But the hours passed uneventfully, and during dinner I headed over to the District 4 apartment. Annette was sitting primly on the couch beside Julietta, and Finnick strode in from his room, his hair wet.

"Good evening ladies- and gentleman. I assume you're here to watch, seeing as though I've been a little too preoccupied lately to order food for dinner." Was it possible that had something to do with the Capitol woman I had passed on my way up? "Feel free to ask for something if you really need it though," he added, plopping down on the couch next to Julietta. I sat next to Annette, and tried to ignore the way her eyes flickered over to me every few minutes. Finnick turned on the television just as the announcers were recapping the night. The arena had fallen dark, and they panned over each tribute for a few minutes. The Careers were all shown together. Diamond and Peris were rummaging through the supplies; while Sloan, Flint, and Ronan stood guard outside the Cornucopia. Ronan managed to find himself a sword and some throwing knives- no spear though. Yet.

"I just knew he would do well!" Annette beamed.

"It'll be smooth sailing for now," Finnick agreed. "He won't have much trouble until later." Though I said nothing, I hoped Ronan wouldn't let them hurt her. The boy from 3 was on the edges of the swamp, with only a canteen. And then there was Cora- she'd gone deep into the woods, and taken shelter in a deep thicket of pine trees surrounded by bushes. At the base was a large oak tree, with branches she could probably scale if she had to. At the moment, she was going through her backpack. The small sack provided a small water bottle, a poncho, a pack of crackers, thick rope, and what appeared to be a small hollow cylinder. Cora took a sip from the water bottle- a very small one. Then she examined the cylinder and pushed a button at the end. It lengthened out and her eyes went wide. She had managed to get a hold of a small retractable fishing rod. It wouldn't too strong, but it would help. Putting things back into the bag, she climbed up a pine tree carefully, and tied the rope to a high branch on the oak tree after making several expert knots along it. It dangled just above the ground. She climbed back down onto the forest floor, and admired her handiwork. If someone came along, she could climb the rope out of reach. Cora ventured out quickly to lay a pile of sticks in a large semi-circle, about 20 yards away and hurried back into her hideout. She would hear someone coming now. With that done, she zipped her gray jacket, and rested against the base of the tree, waiting.

"She did it," I whispered.

"She sure did. She's smarter than I thought," Finnick admited with a look of pride. I felt proud myself- Cora was smart. Cora would be alright. I didn't pay much attention to the rest of the tributes. Finally, Iris, the girl from 12 was shown to be hiding somewhere on the verge of the forest and the swamp. Nobody seemed to be too close to Cora. She would be safe for now.

Finnick decided he wanted dinner after all, and we ate, always listening for the mention of Ronan or Cora. The day became night, and we watched as the faces of the dead tributes were shown. The girl from 3, the boy from 5. The boy from 6, Gregorvitch Lander had found by Flint, and was gone. The boy from 7, Bunyan Beech was taken out by the boy from 10. The girl from 8, both from 9. The girl from 11 and the boy from 12. Nine down already. While it wasn't the highest number for the first day, it wasn't the lowest either. Tomorrow would be a big day, now that weapons were accounted for and the Careers had stocked up. Tomorrow, I hoped that Cora would stay safe. I walked home, wondering if ever while she was in the arena, she would think of me. It was such a selfish wish.


	9. 9) An Arena

**Author's Note: Wow, I am so grateful for everyone who has continued to read this! Thanks to TheShulesLovinPsycho, Sunburstkitty, and Anon for reviewing it! I always appreciate getting feedback on the story and the chapters, and your advice is incredibly helpful. And thank you to WelshGirl4Life, kAsS3695, and Sunburstkitty for following it! It's exciting to think that people want to know what's to come, and I hope that I'll be able to provide chapters worth reading. Thank you all - and to all of those who are reading, whose names are not here- for being a part of this!**

 _Cora_

When I made my way out of the forest, the arena sun had not yet risen. Sleeping was hard, and every sound woke me. But the few moments I had submerged in sleep, the man with the gold-eyeliner roamed my head. I pushed away those dreams. I couldn't afford to think like that. Not here. I climbed up the pine trees and untied the rope from branches of the oak. I couldn't stay here- the Careers were surely going to be on the move shortly, and it was important to distance myself. I took my backpack and ventured out from the safety of the thicket. Things were still quiet. But that didn't mean it was safe. Along a thick line of trees, there was enough of a path to follow. Their branches were just low enough for me to climb in a hurry if I needed to. The forest felt fairly empty though.

While the trees and bushes provided shelter, I could only assume others would end up there for that same reason. My best bet was to find water. I moved carefully, checking the path before me for traps or signs of the other tributes. It was possible the sand I had noticed yesterday led to a beach of sorts, but that would be far too open and inviting. I decided to take my chances with whatever lied in the swamp.

It took me some time to reach the edge of woods, and wasn't entirely certain I'd gone the right way, until I noticed that slowly the pine trees gave way to cypress and mangroves, their roots trailing into shallow puddles. Pushing forwards, I found myself in the marshes. The water here was far different than the water from the ocean. Dark and murky, colored by the mud that must've coated the bottom. I expected the smell coming up from its depths to be pungent and bitter, but it was strangely sweet instead. Strangely floral. It was unnatural and it made me uneasy. But even if the Career pack is still near the Cornucopia, I didn't trust them to stay there long. They'd want to get more of us out of the way while it was still easy. My best bet seemed to be staying here.

I pushed through roots and branches, skirting my way around the water. The light faded the deeper I went, the sickly sweet scent becoming stronger. It felt like hours had passed by the time I came across a strange patterns of shallow pools, varying shades of green and blue. Perhaps it was time to check what swam below the surface. I chose a clearer patch, near the edges of the trees, and balanced myself on the study wood. Pulling the small rod from my backpack, I grabbed a worm from the moss nearby. A button released the wire, bobber, and hook from within the rod. Once everything was fastened in place, I dropped the hook into the water. It sank deeper than I had expected it to.

In District 4, fishing was many things. It was the livelihood of our District, but it was also a way to relax. Families taught each other how to cast and reel, and friends sat out on the docks or the beach for hours. It was a chance to pause, a moment in which little else mattered. Time even seemed to grow lazy and slow in the time after lures were set out and before fish were brought in. This small thing felt like a part of home with me in the vastness of the arena. I could feel my muscles relaxing, my breath slowing.

Finally, a tug came on the pole. There was no reel, but a second button snapped the wire back up into the rod. From the end hung a small silvery fish, scales not unlike the dress I had worn for the parade. I fiddled around in the backpack, tearing off a small piece of the poncho to wrap around it, waiting for it to stop squirming.

Everything around me was far too damp to start a fire with, and I didn't want to take a risk with smoke yet anyways. I'd eaten raw fish before, and there wasn't anything significantly different about this fish from any I could remember. I would take me chances.

I made the fish last through as many meals as possible. I didn't want to use the crackers until I had no other option. I was tired, and I wondered when night would next fall. Was it safer to sleep then? Or would others try to take advantage of that time? The water had gotten deeper and wider in the swamp, and was balanced precariously on the tendrils of the mangroves as I moved. Suddenly, there came a thundering boom, and the sound of it startled me so much, I nearly fell off. My foot slipped into the water as I caught myself, strangely lukewarm. Something large and long brushed my ankle, and I yanked it back out with a yelp. Something rippled below the surface, and in terror I dashed to a thick pile of roots, scrambling up them and out of reach. The trunks came together and curved into a cradle, with just enough space to squeeze between. The sound must've been the cannon. Another tribute was dead. Above the water and surrounded the twists of branches and roots, I decided it was time to stay put.

* * *

 _Cinna_

Annette came to my apartment around lunch to drag me out into the city. While we spent the first day as a team, it seemed that watching the Games unfold together would not be a habit. Finnick had gone out in search of sponsorships- at least, I hoped that was where he had gone- and there was little that the rest of us could do for Ronan or Cora.

Downtown, there was a gathering of stylists at the house of Marcello Cloude. Marcello was something of a prodigy, whose talent and skill had been noticed when he was very young. Antony Ide, the head stylist took him in to mentor. Antony gave him a position in District 5 to begin with, and his second tribute won Games. At twenty-three, he skyrocketed to fame, and earned himself a spot with District 1, where he had been well positioned for the last six years. He was kind enough to befriend me when we were both studying- Marcello near the end of his, myself at the beginning- for which I was grateful. It was his recommendation to Antony that allowed me to fill the open position in District 4, rather than being assigned to 11 or 12.

I wasn't his only good friend though. Today, his home was packed, the main room filled with haze of pastel smokes and pastel people. Annette vanished into the folds almost immediately. She had little interest in spending more time with me than was absolutely necessary, seeking out more refined and reputable company. I pushed my way through the masses alone. In one room was a tank full of fish whose scales flashed with Technicolor lights. In another, translucent mannequins were clothed in dresses made of cake, and some were nearly naked, wearing only traces of frosting and crumbs. I found Marcello in on the second floor, sprawled out across a long couch with some of his closest acquaintances. He greeted me with a lazy grin.

"It's about time, Cinna," he said. "I didn't think you were going to turn up. Annette said you've been slaving a way in solitude all week."

"I'm sure she did," I replied. "But I wouldn't turn down an invitation from you. I wouldn't be here without you, after all."

"True," Marcello agreed. His arms were covered in softly colored tattoos that seem to beat out patterns like the lights on the fish and his long hair had been ombre dyed. It began with a deep lavender, and faded to a white like that of Cesear Flickerman's. To complete the look, his three piece suit was pure white, and his tall platform heels were purple. He beckoned for me to sit, and I did, observing those I joined. A few I knew as general acquaintances, others I knew only from their time onscreen or from Marcello's stories.

Marcello's partner from District 1, Tybalt, reclined on the floor beside him, with his head in the lap of _his_ partner, Nikos- who worked for District 7. Athena and Karamin, the stylists from 5 shared a couch to my left. To my right sat the members of Marcello's prep team- Rhiannon, Balthasar, and a girl whose name I hadn't yet learned. She had pink hair pulled into a tall bun, and her eyelashes had been dramatically extended, far beyond anything I'd done for Cora. They fluttered like wings when she blinked.

"Have you met Portia?" Marcello asked. "She's the newest member of my prep team." She gave me a wide smile.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "I'm Cinna."

"I've heard a lot about you," Portia responded. "Marcello says you're very talented."

"Well, I did learn from the best."

"By which he means me," Marcello interjected, garnering laughter from around the room. Tybalt rolled his eyes in mock disdain.

The conversation between us was pleasant enough, with talk of tributes and work. There were compliments and questions, and promises to collaborate on the projects that we would busy ourselves with in the time between Games. It was nice to take my mind off of the worries that had consumed it since Cora entered the launch tube yesterday. Here I was with friends. Here, there were plenty of distractions.

A knock comes from outside of the open door, and a pair of heels came clacking in, their owner dressed head to toe in mint green.

"Hello, hello, hello!" Effie Trinket called out. The conversation in the room faltered for just a moment, as an outsider to our world entered. Effie seemed to notice this, but Marcello was already calling her over to him, sitting up properly on the couch. She took a seat stiffly beside him, and Athena loudly asked Balthasar when his sister's wedding would be.

Effie and Marcello dated on and off through the years. Marcello would get bored or busy, or both, and they would break up. This time, they appeared to be back together. While his hands ran over her pale arms, she eyed us nervously. She seems to know that she was out of place here, as I could only guess she'd felt before at such gatherings. A fan of fashion, but foreign to the process which created it. I couldn't remember seeing her in such an intimate and quiet setting though. Just when the chatter had begun to pick up again, she cleared her throat and tried to join in.

"I wanted to congratulate you all on the other night. All of your tributes looked quite stunning. And I'm sure they'll all do very well this year," she said.

Karamin's eyes narrow. "Not mine," she replied. "He's already dead."

Effie tried to recover from the jab. "Oh. Yes, right. Osric was it?" Marcello cringed beside her.

"Bard Canid. We're District 5," Karamin corrected, gesturing to Athena as well.

Before there could be any further exchange, Marcello shot Karamin a nasty look, and led Effie back out of the room with promises of cake and wine. I felt a pang of sympathy for the overly-polite escort. I didn't know many personally, but she and Julietta didn't seem too different. Uptight, proper, and excitable people. Adoring of the Capitol, and proud of their work. Although much of Julietta's enthusiasm vanished when Finnick left the room. In that manner, they differed. Effie was always trying to please people- and I didn't expect her to be chasing after Haymitch Abernathy anytime soon. She meant well. In terms of work, there wasn't that much difference between stylists and escorts; we made the tributes beautiful and they watched over them and made them likeable. It wasn't for that reason that Karamin had called her out. Marcello and his friends were among the most revered stylists in Panem. Though I hadn't much by way of reputation, I shared a profession with them, and a friend in Marcello. Effie, however, was perpetually tailed by her association with District 12, whose record of victories was woefully small. Some citizens of the Capitol looked down on her attempts to elevate her status. But few would admit they too harbored desires to raise their position in Panem.

The brief exchange made everyone in the room feel awkward. We finished our discussions, and slowly, one by one, we rose and left the room for other places, other conversations.

* * *

 _Cora_

The cannon didn't fire again that day. When night finally fell and the anthem played, I saw that it had been fired for Scarlet Vulpin, the girl from District 5. I remembered her, her hair had been such a bright red color. On the night of the interviews she had worn a dress black as ink, with tiny strands of bulbs that let off a soft blue light. It had reminded me of a jellyfish.

She would never glow like that again. I felt a pang of sadness for her, for the people I knew were waiting at home, watching the screen only to find that she wouldn't be coming back. I should've been worrying how she had died, where she had been- and I did want to know those things- but I found my worries far away, with people I had never known, but whose pain I was so familiar with.

I fell asleep among the mangrove roots. The swamp was foggy the next morning, the floral smell somewhat weaker. With great care I explored the area. In two patches I found watercress and cattails growing in shallower waters, and collected them for later. Halle had once taught me how to eat cattails when we were younger. They looked so tough and unwelcoming, but once the outer layers were peeled away, the softer "heart" of the plant could be eaten. Though I had luck with yesterday's fish, I was apprehensive about what else swam in the murky marshes. I wasn't keen to discover what had brushed against my ankle- or for it to discover me.

The swamp was still such a mystery. There seemed to be a main river that followed a particular path through the trees. It was deep and held a color not too different from seaweed. In other places, tree roots twisted around to separate smaller pools and puddles. Some were a dark brown, and others still were nearly clear and teal. The trees themselves varied in species and sizes, but all had thick and sprawling limbs. I hoped that its enigma would be enough to keep the other tributes away, though it was for that reason I felt it would be unwise to stay there for too long. Whatever lurked in the waters could've been as dangerous as Ursula or the tributes from District 2. Or even Ronan. I was glad to know that he was still alive. As strong as he was, he was still just a boy, only fourteen. Much taller than me, much more capable than me. While his arrogance had astounded me at times, I didn't want to see him die.

It didn't take long before my apprehensions about the swamp were confirmed. There was a splash in the distance from where I stood, having finished my sparse meal of watercress. I crept closer to the safety of the trees, and waited.

Another splash, and then a shouted curse. Unless swamp creatures knew how to swear, there was another person nearby. I held my breath. Was it one of the Careers? Time slowed to a crawl, the seconds transforming into hours as I waited to see who the voice belonged to.

It was a scrawny, gangly boy with shaggy hair and big glasses. The boy from District 3. His boots and pants were soaked, as though he'd made one too many missteps. I watched him as he walked awkwardly, limping ever so slightly. In his hand he held a strange device- it looked like a short metal pole, with something strange attached at the end that made a quiet buzzing noise. From that device ran a long wire up the rod that trailed off to a different small metal piece. It reminded me of a fishing rod- and I could see that he held bag made of a strange mesh material, made of whatever the parachutes from sponsors were, full of fish. How had he caught them? And what exactly did his strange rod do?

He moved past me, and from a distance I could see that his right ankle wasn't just wet with swamp water- it was stained deep red, the color of blood; judging by the tears in his pants leg it, it was his own. Whatever was hiding in the swamp had done that to him. A shiver coursed through my body. There was nowhere in the arena where I could ever truly feel safe. I tried to hang on the hope I so desperately cultivated. Perhaps I couldn't remain safe staying in one place, but at any given point at time, there had to be a place where I could feel relatively secure, out of harm's way for only a moment.

It was there, watching the boy from 3 limping through the mud, that I decided it was time to start making my way out of the swamp.

It was two days later that I found Iris.


	10. 10) An Ally

**Author's Note: Thanks to Dame-of-the-Living-Dead for favoriting this story! And many thanks to AureliaPhoenixAnastasia, Katnissmudblood, and Yukira-Kuchiki for following it! I hope you'll enjoy Chapter 10. Reviews and comments and suggestions are always much appreciated. So, without further ado...**

 _Cinna_

The Games had begun only five days ago. As the first week was drawing to an end, bets were gearing up and sponsors were becoming more confident in their patronages. Twenty four tributes had entered the arena, and now only eleven remained. Yesterday, Sloan and Diamond had taken out Perdita Carp from District 7. Flint and Ronan had teamed up to kill Wilbur Harnac from 11. It had been quite a task, as Wilbur was a towering and muscular boy. He had a great deal of brute force, but Ronan's sword gave him quite the edge. It hadn't been pretty.

The previous night had belonged to the Career pack, but earlier that morning Ursula Sherwood had finally dented their seemingly impenetrable armor. The Careers were an odd number. They had developed a strategy of offense and defense. Teams of 2 went out into the arena with weapons, while one stayed behind at the Cornucopia to guard the stock of supplies. They rotated in shifts, and Peris had been on guard from late night to the early morning, and while the Career stash was impressive, Ursula had been gifted an axe from a sponsor. Peris hadn't stood a chance against her. Ursula stole off before the rest of the group could appear, satisfied having taken a life and bag of food.

Five days and eleven tributes as the fifth day began. Cora had made it past the halfway point. I wasn't sure whether I should've felt grateful that she was alive, or worried that the odds were becoming slimmer and slimmer. Maybe both. The Games were the first thing I checked each morning, and I was grateful for the evenings when I was invited to join the rest of the team in the District 4 apartment. Annette seemed to hover around me, while Julietta and Finnick were difficult to find. More than once I had spotted a Capitol citizen entering through the apartment doors, or caught going up or down the elevator dressed in fine, tight-fitting suits that weren't customary for most mentors.

There were doubts and suspicions in my mind, but Annette had said it wasn't a topic to discuss.

"What are those suits for?" I had asked her.

"For something which is only Finnick's business," she had responded curtly.

I pressed her further. "Who makes them?"

"I've made a few through the years. As have other stylists in the Capitol," she allowed. "Finnick is quite the model." She shot a yellow-tinted look my way, ending the conversation.

That day however, Finnick had invited the team to join him in the heart of the city while he vied for sponsors. There was a large party in the home of a high-ranking government official. Wealthy citizens made their way around a large foyer, passing glasses of bubbly drinks and letting their laughter drift upward. Marcello's party had housed pastel colors and stylish sensory entertainment, with smoke and lights and everything beautiful; in all senses of the word. Here, things were more minimalist. White walls and granite columns, white couches and rugs and tables. It was the current Capitol trend, but there was a trademark grandeur in the simplicity. Monochrome jewels adorned the furniture, and glittering, shining accessories adorned the vestments of the attendees.

It was fascinating, watching Finnick and Julietta move across the seas of revelers. Annette and I had them been watching from above, where a handful of fellow stylists had gathered on the second floor landing. Finnick could seduce nearly anyone into nearly anything. A few winks here, a well placed hand there. He would lean in and whisper his offers, creating intimacy in such a large space. Sometimes he even sealed the deal with a quick kiss, before vanishing into the crowd, leaving sponsors in a whirl. Julietta had taken a different approach. She began with her signature, sweet smiles to lure a potential sponsor in. Once conversation had begun, she became a shrewd dealer. She was straightforward and drove a hard bargain.

The duo was indeed dynamic, and it worked well. I desperately wished for some of those sponsors to be for Cora, and not just her fierce counterpart. Had her hope left an impression? Could her kindness reach them? Would her mentor's charisma be enough to bring her home? In the last two days, the Games had intensified. The Gamemakers seemed to be pushing the tributes closer together- Cora had almost been trapped in a tangle of marsh roots that began closing in around her, scaring her further from the heart of the swamp- and more of them were receiving gifts from sponsors, including weaponry. Edison Franklin, the remaining tribute from District 3, had invented some sort of electric fishing rod. He was able to send a jolt of electricity through the water, effectively bringing up whatever fish were below. It seemed only a matter of time before he tested it on a tribute.

Amidst my own worries and the lights of the party, a hand found my shoulder. It was Portia, from Marcello's prep team. She smiled up at me through those long eyelashes.

"Hi Cinna," she said, a bit meekly. "I don't know if you remember me but-"

"No, no of course I do. It's nice to see you, Portia. Are you here with Marcello and Tybalt?" While prep teams assisted stylists, they didn't often attend events like this, where the crowd was mostly composed of mentors, sponsors, and escorts.

"Yes. Well, he invited me here with the rest of the District 1 team. But they've all gone of somewhere and you were the only face I really recognized here. You know, I had been hoping to ask you about some of your designs? I was really impressed by your tribute's interview dress."

I wished she hadn't referred to Cora that way. My tribute. She wasn't just an assignment. "Well, thank you. What do you want to know?"

"Well, actually, I was wondering if I could see some of them? I'd love to see your creative process. I know I'm only on a prep team right now, but I'll be finishing my studies next year, and I want to be a stylist. Eventually," Portia added nervously. "You started as a stylist so quickly, and to be assigned such a good District too… I thought maybe I could learn something from you."

I didn't tell her that my position was partly due to the fact I had good connections. "Oh, well, certainly. I'd be happy to." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Finnick and Julietta weaving their way up the staircase, dodging the unconscious body of the District 12 mentor, who had passed out. "I'm here with my team at the moment though. Maybe we could meet at some other time?"

"Would you be free the day after tomorrow? Maybe we could get coffee or something, and you could bring your sketches?"

Annette was headed towards Finnick, signaling me over as well.  
"That sounds great. Just give me a call tonight. Marcello can give you my number. I'll see you then," I said, and hurried over to join the others.

"Great news," Finnick said, once we were all together. "We've got some really good sponsors. Tonight we can start compiling what Ronan and Cora need in the arena. We should be able to send one, maybe two things to them now. Food, maybe an item they can use to fight or defend themselves with. Water. We'll save the rest for emergencies. You never know what might happen in there. We have to be prepared for them, when they're going to need it most. A parachute then could be the difference between living and dying," he finished solemnly. His words were heavy, weighted with memories of tributes past. Perhaps even the memories of his own time in the arena.

"Wait," I chimed in. "You said Ronan _and_ Cora. Does that mean…"

Finnick smiled at me. "Do you have that little faith in me?" he asked. I looked down, embarrassed. "I want Cora to make it out alive. I don't want to see either of them die in there. I'm not going to leave them defenseless or hungry just because one seems like the better bet." I didn't mean to imply that, though if I was honest with myself, I had feared just that. That Ronan would be more popular, that only he would receive sponsors. While I harbored my suspicions about Finnick Odair, it seemed there was much about him I didn't understand. He had a following of both fans and lovers, dividing his time between his home in District 4 and the Capitol. He had been heralded as a talented and cunning victor, but he seemed to care more than he had let on. Or perhaps he always had, and it was the rest of the world who was unwilling to see it.

* * *

 _Cora_

There was a river that flowed from the swamp and into the woods. I had been following that trail through the arena, for as long as I could see the water, I felt at peace.

It was on the edge of marsh and forest that we met. I could make out a figure in the trees, tall but thin. Depending on who the silhouette belonged to, I could try to backtrack and find a different way around, or somewhere to wait. Which tribute had such a stature? The boy from 11 had been tall, but had a thicker, stronger build. And he had been killed last night. Maybe Diamond, the girl from District 1?

They stepped closer, into a patch of light, and the knot of fear in my chest unraveled. It was Iris Sable, the girl from 12. She had dark hair and olive skin, and bright blue eyes that pierced all they saw. She looked hungry, tired.

She could've had a weapon with her. She could've been dangerous or waiting for an ally, but something in her exhausted expression compelled me towards her. I didn't want to frighten her though. I kicked my boot across the top of the river, making the subtlest splashing sound. Iris froze, looked around, and saw me.

"Iris," I said softly. "It's okay. I don't want to hurt you." I put my hands up, showing her I had nothing with which to harm her. Merely empty palms and calloused hands. Iris remained anchored in her position, considering her options. She could probably outrun me, or maybe even overtake me. She was nearly a foot taller than me, but she looked far too tired for either of those actions. And so she came closer.

"My name is Cora," I told her. "I'm from District 4. You're Iris, right?" She nodded. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just… I saw you, and it looked like you were alone. And, well, I'm alone. And I thought maybe…" I had to choose my words carefully here. "Maybe we could at least be alone together?"

The corner of her mouth twitched upward, just a tiny bit, the ghost of a smile on a face which had not smiled in some time. "Though, I would much rather be allies. It would be nice to have a friend in the arena."

"Friends?" Iris asked. Her voice was husky, a rougher sound born of years spent among the coal dust brought up from the mines. "This is the Hunger Games. We were sent here to kill each other."

I had made a mistake, and tried to quickly to recover. How could I explain what I meant? In my mind, an ally and a friend didn't seem all that different. A friend was somebody to rely on. Somebody to trust and confide in. Somebody to believe in, and who believed in you. _Someone like Cinna. Cinna was a friend. An ally. And something more?_ Something I shouldn't be thinking about. So maybe an ally was different. A friend liked you for who you were. They stuck with you because you shared a connection of love, a mutual decision to do life together. An ally however, stuck with you... well, for an alliance. Because there was a mutual benefit to working together and looking out for each other. Love and affection was not required in a relationship built around protection and survival.

"Just because we're here together doesn't mean we have to hate each other. Most of us didn't choose this. We didn't choose to be reaped, to fight in the arena. We don't have many choices in here. But we can choose to work together. An alliance is one of the only choices we have left." Iris stared at me. "I would choose you as a friend," I added, one last measure of hope. "Would you choose me?" _Please say yes. Please choose me. Please don't leave me alone._ It wasn't until the possibility of an alliance came along that I realized how much I wanted one. I hadn't thought I would even make it far enough to form one, let alone be fortunate enough to come across somebody I felt I could trust. I didn't know much of Iris, but from what I had seen of her in the training center, what she had said in her interview, I liked her. I felt for her. Her heart didn't seem in the Games, but it was clear she wanted to survive. I wondered if that had been a struggle for her long before she came to the Capitol.

In the Districts of Panem, it seemed that pain was unavoidable. What was different was the particular pains felt, and the way they were healed, or merely endured- or not. I couldn't pretend to know what Iris's life was like, but it was clear that she was underfed and physically exhausted. She had a tougher exterior, though it wasn't built to fight back or cause harm. Only to defend, to deflect the arrows and offenses that the world aimed at her. She seemed to trust very little, and expect the worst. My pain was of a different kind. I could always count on regular meals in District 4, but I could never again count on my brother to walk through the door of my house, to take me fishing or tell me jokes. Those days were gone, and the pain of loss had left an undeniable scar on my heart. I felt it every day. I mourned Tyde, and while I didn't trust the Capitol or the Games, I had relied on the world around me to carry me through the ocean of grief. Hope had been a lighthouse in my life, the only thing guiding me back to shore. I wanted to believe the best was possible. That was my way of coping. I had to believe that better things could still be ahead. Could Iris believe that of me.

Years ticked away in that little corner, between swamp and land. "Okay," Iris said finally. "Allies. Because it's my choice."

"Thank you," I breathed. It was the happiest I had felt since the tube had pulled me into the arena. How strange, in a place of such fear, that something so small could bring so much joy. I extended my hand to her, and she took it. Her fingers were long, and bony, but there was a hardened strength to her grip. It seemed to proper way to solidify this agreement- this choice.

"So," she began. "What happens now?"


	11. 11) A Loss

**Author's Note: Thank you to Bailey, for reviewing the last chapter! I hope I'll be able to remain more consistent with upcoming chapters. I feel like it's taken a few chapters to really develop their voices, though Cinna is a bit easier, since he has an established canon guideline. I am always open to feedback and constructive criticism, and I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter!**

 _Cinna_

Marcello had in fact given Portia my number. We agreed to meet three days after the party, at an outdoor café in the heart of the Capitol, not far from the Training Center. I brought a small selection of my sketchbooks, the most recent including the designs for Cora's outfits.

I had been spending more time on designs, as the Games drew into their second week. No one had been killed since Peris, and the whole country seemed to be on the edge of their seats, waiting for something to happen. Cora had made an alliance with the girl from District 12, and they seemed to be protecting each other. They stayed hidden and on guard, venturing out only to collect food and water, or to find a new place to sleep. Finnick had sent a parachute of bread and soup to Cora, which they shared. They seemed to be the only alliance besides the Career pack, which was down to four members. Though the two girls seemed very different, they got along quite well. I had caught glimpses of their interactions, moving between the apartments, or to parties hosted by various stylists and Capitol citizens.

I hadn't run into to Portia again until now. She was flipping through the pages of one of the books, completely focused.

"Wow," she said. "These are really incredible."

"Well, thank you."

"No, really. I've never seen designs quite like these. They're elegant, but so simple. And so many have a unique touch, something special you've added. I mean, I've only seen two of your pieces in person, but both were beautiful. They really played to the tribute's best qualities. This is only your first year as a stylist?"

"It is," I admitted. "I'm lucky to have such an experienced partner, in such a well-positioned District. But what about you? You must have had quite a bit of options, working with District 1?" The first District was known for their attractive tributes, who lived a much softer life than many of those from the lower Districts. Most stylists coveted the spot, for wealth of artistic lisence it allowed as well. Their industry was luxury goods, which allowed for a great deal of gems and glitter to create sparkling and refined costumes, more commonly aligned with Capitol trends than others.

Portia frowned. "It is really nice. And it's been so exciting to be a part of things, and actually do work. It's just that being on the prep team, I don't get to do much in the way of fashion." I understood what she meant. A prep team could be called upon to help complete a costume, but most of the actual clothing and ideas were formed by the stylists. Prep teams did just what the name implied- they prepared a tribute by way of hair, skin, and makeup before the stylists came in.

"I want to work with clothing," Portia continued. "That's what I really love doing. Creating new fashions, testing things out, and watching one of my designs turn into something real and tangible and beautiful."

"I feel exactly the same way. There's something almost magical about it; knowing that you've put something into the world that only you could've made. And especially when what you've made is able to do something for someone else. As a stylist, being able to use my designs to help Cora, that's what I've really enjoyed doing."

"Yes! I have say, I feel a bit disappointed knowing that my work for the Games is done for know, since Peris was eliminated."

She spoke about it so nonchalantly that it threw me off. Wasn't there a greater loss? "You don't feel bad that he's dead?" I regretted the words as soon as they had left my mouth. Of course not. That wasn't the point of the Games. They weren't people, they weren't children, just entertainment. But Portia's response surprised me.

"I guess… well, we're not supposed to are we? Not really? But I do feel a little sad. It's not like I really knew him. But still, he didn't seem like a bad person. Not someone who deserved to be die, not in such a brutal manner. But that's the point of the Hunger Games, right? That the Districts have to be punished for the rebellion?"

"It's a bit harder to watch them, isn't it? Once you see them as people?"

"Do you?" she asked. I saw many things. I saw Cora, waving from the chariots. Standing on the balcony, upset. Telling me she liked gold- she liked _me_ in gold. Twirling before her interview. Telling me what she wanted to come home to. My answer was clear. Because after Cora, I saw Ronan, who laughed at dinner and hadn't hurt Cora. And all the tributes who had entered that arena with them. Who all must've had someone they wanted to come back to, and someone who wanted them to come home.

"I do."

Portia stared at me, not unkindly. "Can I show you my work?" she asked, an abrupt change of subject. I agreed, and she handed me her own sketchbook from the depths of her purse. I had just begun to examine it when she started speaking again. "I like the way you think. I haven't really shown anyone my designs outside of classes or work. But I think you just trusted me with something very honest, and I want to do the same."

Her sketches were lovely. Everything had been drawn with a careful, steady hand. Some were, perhaps, a bit cautious and traditional in their trends. But others, especially later drawings, showed great promise. She saw beauty in ordinary things and turned them into her ideas, channeled her inspirations into clothing. There was influence from the city and from nature, designs inspired by something as simple as a color or as complex as the skyline. They were beautiful, and I told her so.

What had been planned as a short rendezvous became a long conversation, exchanges of ideas on everything from work to inspirations to the Games themselves. Portia still had a year left in her studies, but her talent was undeniable. It was easy to get lost in the discussion, and she felt less like a stranger and more like a friend. The Games felt far away- until my phone rang. Once, I ignored it. They called again, and when I answered, it was Annette on the other end of the line.

"Where are you?" she demanded. "Get up to the apartment as soon as you can." Her usually even voice was urgent.

"I'm out for coffee. I'm only a few minutes away, what's wrong?" I asked.

"It's Cora. Hurry."

* * *

 _Cora_

"I'm just concerned, that's all," Iris told me. "It's been three days since one of us was eliminated. That's usually when the Gamemakers intervene. Something is bound to happen soon."

She was right. The odds were up, and the audience would be hungry for entertainment. I tried to ignore the creeping anxiety that permeated the air. "It'll be okay. We have an advantage, because we have each other. It would be two against one, and the odds are in our favor."

"Unless it's the Career pack," Iris added.

"It won't be. We'll be smarter than that," I promised. "Look, we've made it this far! There's only eleven of us left. The girl from 1, Sloan and Flint from 2, the boy from 3, me and Ronan, Ursula from 7…"

"The boy from 8, Dolly from 10, Leonine from 11, and me," she finished.

"We can do this." I took her hand, and she gave me a faint smile. Since forming our alliance, we'd spent nearly all of our time together. I had learned so much about her, and about the District where she came from. Iris was the oldest of three sisters. Her father worked in the mines, as nearly every man in District 12 did. Her mother had been too sick to work for the last few years. Iris was guarded, but she was so smart, and though she was careful with her heart, it was kind. She knew a lot about plants and leaves, and taught me which ones were useful and which were edible. I taught her how to fish in the stream that wound through the forest. Iris told me about the poverty that she had known, the months of aching hunger, and the fear that there would be nobody to help her sisters if she didn't return. In turn, I told her about my brother, about the way I watched a stranger die onscreen, never to see Tyde as he really was, never to hear him come home again.

"It's terrible, what the Games take," Iris had declared. "It's not just life that's lost in the arena. To kill someone else? To watch someone be killed? Knowning that everyone here just wants to go home? You lose yourself. You have to, if you want to survive." Iris tried not to think too much about Ford, her partner, who hadn't lasted long at all. He had been brutally beaten by the boy from 11, but thinking about Ford, about his family, it hit too close to home for her. She couldn't let herself feel anything, or she was afraid she would break.

"I don't want to do that. Lose myself. I'm so afraid of that," I had admitted. Iris was afraid of feeling too much, and I was afraid of not feeling anything at all. But we had held each other's hands, shared the meals that we made, and the one that Finnick sent. The bread had tasted like salt, a welcome reminder of home.

Now, we made our way through the trees together, our steps as quiet on the mossy ground. Our hope was to reach the sandy portion of the arena, opposite the Cornucopia, and head up the mountain. It seemed unlikely that other tributes would go there, with its seeming lack of resources, but it would've given us a clear view of the arena and an opportunity to see threats coming, before they saw us.

We paused to rest, and to eat. Iris kept fidgeting, glancing at the ground with her forehead knit together in worry. "What are you going to do, when you get home?" I asked Iris.

She looked over her shoulder at me, an eyebrow raised. "What?"

"When you get home. What will you do?"

"Don't you mean if?"

"Positive thinking, Iris," I said. When she was nervous, talking distracted her from whatever was weighing on her mind, and I was happy for a distraction as well.

Iris thought over this for minute. "I would hug my sisters. And then I'd go back to my house, and just sit in front of the fireplace, by myself, until everything felt right again," she concluded.

"I'd like to meet your sisters." I had never had a sister, though Halle often felt like one. My own house felt too empty, too quiet, with only one child in it. How empty did it feel, with me in the arena? That was a question I tried to avoid asking myself.

"We couldn't both go home, Cora." That truth was something else I tried to forget. Iris felt like a friend. She had a tough exterior, but she had helped me and trusted me. She had saved us both from a nest of spiders the size of dinner plates. I wanted to think of her as a friend, as a normal friend that I could share stories and life with. Someone I had years to get to know. But it was only temporary. Our alliance would have to end at some point. Either one of us would be killed, or we would break it off in order to avoid being the only two left and having to kill the other. If it ever came down to that, I knew who I would want to leave the arena. If it came down to breaking my promise to Cinna, or the promise I had made with myself on the train, it would be Cinna that I would have to let down.

"What would- what will you do?" Iris asked, playing along.

"I would want to see my parents, and my friends. Swim in the ocean again, just to feel how big it was. I don't know if I'd ever quite feel free enough again." Any maybe, maybe I would have the chance to understand just what I felt for my friend in the Capitol.

"I hope you get to do that," Iris said softly. She didn't meet my eyes, but reached for my hand.

"I want the same for you," I replied.

We continued on, the cover of the trees getting sparser as we went. We were close to the place where forest became sand, and the stream was becoming wider with the trail. Did the sand lead to a lake? The air didn't carry the scent of salt signifying an ocean. Iris stopped suddenly, holding her hand up.

"Cora," she whispered. "Did you hear that?"

I tried to listen closer, my whole body on edge. "Hear what?"

Iris didn't have time to answer though, as Flint burst through the undergrowth before us. I turned to run, but he grabbed the strap of my backpack, pulling me back towards him. He was so much taller than me, taller than Iris, and there was such force even in his hand.

I struggled to break free, panic pulsing through my head, unable to think, unable to focus. There was a thud, and a loosening of his grip. I jerked away to see Iris, who stood with a rock in hand. She had hit Flint in the face, but it wasn't enough to hurt him. I grabbed for the rod in my bag, then tossed it away, as he lunged at Iris.

I aimed for his temples, putting as much strength into the rod as I could muster. It seemed to vibrate with the impact, but still Flint stood steady, resilient as his name.

"Quite the team here, haven't we?" he snarled. "Live together, die together. What's the difference?" He came back my way, and the rod met each of his punches. It was easy to fall back into the familiar form, and I felt a sense of calm coming back to me, slowing my heart enough for me concentrate. I could hold Flint off this way, but I didn't think I would be able to stop him long enough to escape. Not for Iris and I both, at least.

"Run, Iris!" I choked out. Fists on metal, again and again, faster and faster. How long would the hollow rod last? I could try to push the button, let out the hook, but that seemed too risky. What if it entangled us both, or what if the hook stuck to me instead? What if it snared him in the wrong place, took an eye or worse? I wanted to live. I didn't want to kill him. I didn't want him to kill me. Promises, panic. Flint's punch finally found my stomach, knocking the breath from my lungs. His other arm took hold of my shoulder, locking on tightly, his fingers pressed into jacket like a clamp.

"Cora, look out!" Iris cried. There was a glint of metal as Flint reached in the depths of his pocket for what must've been a knife, and then a twitch of movements as he stumbled backwards. Iris had her hands locked around his neck, her legs around his waist, and squeezed his throat tight. I broke free once more, as Flint's attention was diverted again.

This time though, he had the knife, and it met her hand. Iris screamed and fell behind him, and he towered over her, while I caught my breath finally. My ally was in trouble. My friend was in trouble. How could I protect her without killing him? Could I knock him out with a stone? Iris hadn't been able to. There was little time to think as Flint's knife made contact with her stomach. The sound was horrible, second only to Iris's scream of pain. Frantic, I ran at Flint, who shoved me back to the ground with little effort. That sound, the contact of knife and flesh, again and again and again. Iris, crying. Myself, useless while my friend was hurting. He was going to kill her if I didn't kill him. I grabbed for a stone, ready to attack, but then I caught view of his eyes, and hesitated for just a heartbeat. Blue-gray, like Tyde's.

Like my brother who had killed in the arena. Like my brother who had been killed in the arena. Who I still mourned, who I still missed, who I still had loved and believed the best of. What was the difference? Did they kill for sport or to survive? Could one life be weighed against another? Another shriek from Iris brought reality hurtling back, but that split second was enough for Flint to land another blow, cutting off her cries. Satisfied, Flint moved to finish off our alliance, his knife ready for a new target. Iris still writhed on the ground. His blade in the air, I closed my eyes and prepared for the blow. His knife met my arm, but my cry was drowned out by another. Flint collapsed to the ground, silent, and over him stood Ronan, a bloodied spear in his hand.

I was frozen by the shock of the stab and the sudden appearance. I couldn't fit it all together in my mind, couldn't process it. Ronan stared down at me.

"Cora, you have to go. The others will be here soon," he ordered. I couldn't move. A few yards away, Iris had gone quiet as well. What had I done?

Iris was dead because of me. Because I couldn't kill Flint. Wasn't I as responsible for her death as he was? Because I hadn't saved her. I was supposed to protect her. My ally, my friend. Her parents, her sisters would feel her loss, knowing that I hadn't helped her. How was that any different? It was my fault she was gone. She had been killed because I wouldn't kill.

"Cora," Ronan repated. "Cora, you need to go now. Run towards the swamp, run as fast as you can." He grabbed my backpack and tossed it at me. "Come on, go!"

"I… I… Ro…" I had no words. Ronan took action instead. He hoisted me up, his hand around my arm. He found my eyes, and there was so much strength in them.

"I don't want to see you die. So stay alive. And go, Coral." The nickname. The smallest connection. "Go!"

"Thank you," I said, and I took off before tears could blur my vision.

* * *

 _Cinna_

I rushed into the apartment, where the rest of the team sat waiting. Finnick had his head in his hands, and Julietta was wringing hers. Someone was screaming

"What's happening?" I asked, falling onto the couch.

"Cora," Annette replied. "And the boy from 2." On screen, he turned away from someone- Iris, the girl from 12. Cora's ally. She was crying, her jacket stained red.

Oh no. No. I couldn't breathe. Cora. The cameras panned out, and there she was, lying on the forest floor, unarmed. Terror was plain on her face. This couldn't be it. She had come this far, made it into the second week of the Games. It was in that moment that I realized how much I wanted her to survive. How much I wanted _her._ I had felt that closeness, that creeping emotion lingering since she spoke so candidly to me on the balcony. But never had it been so clear to me, and never had I allowed myself to consider how I would feel if she died in the arena.

Flint raised his knife- Julietta winced, and Finnick held his breath, and time seemed to slow as the apartment went silent- and as he brought it down, a spear met his side. He gasped, falling as it was pulled back out.

"Cora," a voice on the television said. All of us sat straight at attention. "You have to go. The others will be here soon." It was Ronan. It was Ronan who had saved her, and though he stood now in a position to kill her, to leave her for his allies to attack, he was helping her. I took back any doubts I had about his character. He had proven himself in that moment. If Ronan won, I would thank him. I would thank him for giving Cora a little more time, for allowing her to escape to safety. There from the couch, I sent my gratitude his way. In the arena, Ronan looked over the body of the girl, who had stopped moving. Three fingers were pressed to her lips. Deciding that she had nothing worth taking, he ran off in the opposite direction Cora had gone, to catch up with the other Careers, and divert them off course.

"They're both okay," Finnick said, a sigh of relief escaping him. "Thank goodness. Whatever bond those two have, it's enough. Ronan did good. He did good there." He shook his head. "You never know who you can trust in there. It's so easy to get lost, and you start to think everyone is your enemy. Even the people you know."

"He's good with a spear, that's for sure," Julietta observed. Then, laying a hand on Finnick's arm, "You must've trained him well. Strong _and_ a good sport."

By then, the cameras found Cora. She was alone, huddled in a thicket and covered by their leaves, shaking in the dirt. The boom of the cannon rang out and for a brief second she was still. Then another cannon. We watched as she broke down. Her whole body wracked with sobs, and her hand was clamped over her mouth, trying to muffle the sound as tears poured down her face. Eventually, she buried her head between her knees, rocking back and forth.

I wanted to go to her, I wanted to hold her and keep her from crying. But did I even understand her pain? Did I have a right to comfort her? I glanced at Finnick, who watched with obvious empathy. His lips were pressed as tightly as his fist. Whatever Cora felt, Finnick would understand far more than I ever could. Whatever his spare time and stream of companions was, there was no question that he'd been hurt deeply before. And it was still there, on his face. He carried it with him, masked by his nonchalance and flirting.

The scene before us changed, to the boy from District 3 who was skirting the edges of the Cornucopia with a strange bundle of wires, as the Careers were making their way back.

A wave of horror passed over me. Cora could've been killed. She was in danger, and she could've been killed, and I hadn't been there. I had been out to coffee while she was fighting for her life in the arena. What if Ronan hadn't been there? One fear, over and over. I stared at the television, consumed by a sudden onslaught of guilt. I could have lost her.


End file.
